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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


tre  Balzac 

PHILOSOPHIC 
AND   ANALYTIC   STUDIES 

VOLUME  II 


LIMITED    TO   ONE    THOUSAND   COMPLETE   COPIES 


NO. 


THE  ELIXIR   OF  LONG  LIFE 


He  took  a  piece  of  linen,  and,  after  moistening  it 
sparingly  in  the  precious  liquid,  he  touclicd  lightly 
the  rig/it  eyelid  of  the  corpse.  The  eye  opened. 

"Aha!  "  exclaimed  Don  Juan,  grasping  the  phial 
as,  in  a  dream,  we  grasp  the  branch  from  which  we 
are  suspended  over  a  precipice. 

He  saw  an  eye  sparkling  with  life. 


THE    NOVELS 


OF 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC 


NOW    FOR    THE    FIRST   TIME 
COMPLETELY    TRANSLATED    INTO    ENGLISH 


BY  G.  BURNHAM  1VES 


WITH    FIVE    ETCHINGS    BY    RICARDO    DE    LOS    RIOS,    AFTER 
PAINTINGS    BY   EDOUARD   TOUDOUZE 


IN  ONE  VOLUME 


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PRINTED  ONLY  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS  BY 

GEORGE   BARRIE   &   SON,  PHILADELPHIA 


COPYRIGHT,   1899,   BY  GEORGE  BARRIE  &   SON 


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JESUS  CHRIST  IN   FLANDERS 


189971 


TO  MARCELINE  DESBORDES-VALMORE 

To  you,  a  daughter  of  Flanders,  and  one  of  its 
recent  glories,  I  dedicate  this  simple  tradition  of 
Flanders. 

DE  BALZAC. 


At  a  somewhat  indefinite  period  of  Brabantine 
history,  communication  between  the  island  of  Wal- 
cheren  and  the  shores  of  Flanders  was  maintained 
by  a  small  vessel  intended  for  the  transportation  of 
passengers.  Middleburg,  the  capital  of  the  island, 
at  a  later  period  so  famous  in  the  annals  of  Protest- 
antism, contained  only  two  or  three  hundred  houses. 
Wealthy  and  prosperous  Ostend  was  an  unknown 
seaport,  flanked  by  a  hamlet  sparsely  inhabited  by 
a  few  fishermen,  by  poor  tradesmen,  and  by  un- 
molested pirates.  Nevertheless,  the  hamlet  of  Os- 
tend, comprising  about  a  score  of  houses  and  three 
hundred  cabins,  huts,  or  hovels  built  with  the  debris 
of  shipwrecked  vessels,  enjoyed  a  governor,  a  mili- 
tia, a  gallows,  a  convent,  a  burgomaster,  in  fact,  all 
the  symbols  of  advanced  civilization.  Who  reigned 
at  that  time  in  Brabant,  in  Flanders,  in  Belgium? 
On  that  point,  tradition  is  silent.  Let  us  confess  at 
once  that  this  narrative  is  materially  affected  by 
the  vagueness,  the  uncertainty,  the  admixture  of  the 
supernatural  with  which  the  favorite  orators  of 
Flemish  festivals  frequently  interlarded  their  com- 
mentaries, whose  poetic  forms  are  as  diverse  as  their 
details  are  contradictory.  Told  by  generation  after 
generation,  repeated  from  fireside  to  fireside  day  and 
night  by  the  old  men,  by  the  minstrels,  this  chronicle 
received  a  different  coloring  from  each  age.  Like 
(5) 


6  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

those  monuments  constructed  according  to  the  caprice 
of  the  architectural  systems  of  each  epoch,  black, 
defaced  masses  which,  nevertheless,  delight  the 
souls  of  poets,  it  would  drive  commentators,  sifters 
of  words,  facts,  and  dates,  to  despair.  The  narrator 
believes  it,  as  all  the  superstitious  folk  of  Flanders 
have  believed  it,  without  thereby  betraying  greater 
learning  or  greater  weakness  of  intellect.  As  it  is 
impossible  to  reconcile  all  the  versions,  here  is  the 
story,  stripped,  it  may  be,  of  its  romantic  simplicity, 
which  cannot  be  reproduced,  but  with  its  bold  deeds 
which  history  disavows,  with  its  moral  lesson  which 
religion  approves,  its  strain  of  mysticism,  a  flower  of 
the  imagination,  its  hidden  meaning  which  the  wise 
man  may  interpret  to  suit  himself.  To  every  man 
his  chosen  pasturage  and  the  task  of  sorting  the 
good  grain  from  the  chaff. 

The  boat  that  carried  passengers  from  the  island 
of  Walcheren  to  Ostend  was  about  to  leave  the  vil- 
lage. Before  casting  off  the  iron  chain  by  which  his 
boat  was  made  fast  to  a  stone  of  the  little  pier  where 
his  passengers  embarked,  the  skipper  blew  several 
blasts  on  his  horn  to  summon  those  who  were  behind 
time,  for  that  was  his  last  trip.  Night  was  approach- 
ing, by  the  fading  gleams  of  the  setting  sun  one 
could  barely  make  out  the  Flemish  coast  and  dis- 
tinguish the  forms  of  the  belated  passengers,  wan- 
dering along  the  earthen  walls  which  surrounded  the 
fields  or  among  the  tall  reeds  in  the  swamps.  The 
boat  was  full;  someone  called  out: 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for?     Let  us  start !" 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  7 

At  that  moment,  a  young  man  appeared  a  few 
steps  away  from  the  pier;  the  pilot,  who  had  neither 
seen  him  nor  heard  his  footsteps,  was  much  sur- 
prised at  his  sudden  appearance.  He  seemed  to 
have  risen  suddenly  from  the  earth,  as  if  he  were 
a  peasant  who  had  lain  down  in  a  field  awaiting 
the  hour  of  departure,  and  had  been  awakened  by 
the  horn.  Was  he  a  thief?  was  he  an  officer  of  the 
customs  or  police?  When  he  reached  the  pier  at 
which  the  boat  was  moored,  seven  persons  who 
were  standing  at  the  stern  hastily  took  seats  on  the 
benches,  so  that  they  might  be  by  themselves  and 
not  allow  the  stranger  to  join  them.  They  acted  in 
obedience  to  a  swift,  instinctive  thought,  one  of 
those  aristocratic  thoughts  that  come  to  the  minds 
of  the  rich.  Four  of  these  persons  belonged  to  the 
oldest  nobility  of  Flanders.  First  of  all,  a  young 
cavalier,  accompanied  by  two  beautiful  greyhounds 
and  wearing  upon  his  long  hair  a  round  cap  adorned 
with  precious  stones,  clashed  his  gilded  spurs  and 
twisted  his  moustache  impatiently  from  time  to  time, 
casting  contemptuous  glances  at  the  rest  of  the  ship's 
company.  A  haughty  young  woman  held  a  falcon 
on  her  wrist  and  spoke  with  no  one  but  her  mother 
and  an  ecclesiastic  of  high  rank,  evidently  their  kins- 
man. These  four  made  a  great  noise  and  talked 
together  as  if  they  were  alone  on  the  boat.  Never- 
theless, close  beside  them  was  a  man  of  great  im- 
portance in  the  country,  a  stout  burgher  of  Bruges, 
wrapped  in  a  great  cloak.  His  servant,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  had  placed  two  bags  of  gold  by  his  side. 


8  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

Next  to  them,  again,  was  a  man  of  learning,  a  doctor 
at  the  University  of  Louvain,  attended  by  his  clerk. 
These  people,  who  severally  looked  down  on  one 
another,  were  separated  from  the  bow  of  the  boat 
by  the  bench  of  rowers. 

As  the  tardy  passenger  stepped  aboard,  he  cast  a 
rapid  glance  at  the  stern,  saw  that  there  was  no 
room  there,  and  went  to  seek  a  place  among  those 
who  were  in  the  bow.  They  were  poor  people. 
When  they  saw  a  bareheaded  man,  whose  brown 
camlet  coat  and  short-clothes  and  starched  shirt-front 
were  without  ornament,  who  had  neither  cap  nor  hat 
on  his  head,  neither  sword  nor  purse  in  his  girdle,  they 
all  took  him  for  a  burgomaster  sure  of  his  authority, 
a  kindly,  gentle-natured  burgomaster  like  some  of 
those  old  Flemings  whose  ingenuous  characters  have 
been  so  faithfully  portrayed  for  us  by  the  painters 
of  the  country.  The  poorer  class  of  passengers 
therefore  greeted  the  stranger  with  demonstrations 
of  respect  which  gave  birth  to  whispered  raillery 
among  the  people  at  the  stern.  An  old  soldier,  a 
man  of  toil  and  of  fatigue,  gave  his  place  on  the 
bench  to  the  stranger,  seated  himself  on  the  boat's 
rail,  and  maintained  his  balance  by  his  manner  of 
resting  his  feet  against  one  of  the  wooden  cross- 
pieces  which  connect  the  floor-boards  of  a  boat,  like 
the  bones  of  a  fish.  A  young  woman,  the  mother  of 
a  little  child,  apparently  belonging  to  the  working- 
class  of  Ostend,  moved  aside  to  make  more  room 
for  the  new-comer.  The  movement  implied  neither 
servility  nor  disdain,  it  was  one  of  those  acts  of 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  9 

courtesy  by  which  poor  people,  who  know  by  ex- 
perience the  value  of  a  slight  favor  and  the  pleasures 
of  fraternal  intercourse,  reveal-  the  frankness  and 
naturalness  of  their  hearts,  so  artless  in  the  manifes- 
tation of  their  good  qualities  and  their  defects;  and 
so  the  stranger  thanked  them  with  a  gesture  full  of 
dignity.  Then  he  took  his  seat  between  the  young 
mother  and  the  old  soldier.  Behind  him  were  a 
peasant  and  his  son,  the  latter  a  boy  of  ten.  A 
poor  woman,  old  and  wrinkled,  dressed  in  rags,  with 
an  almost  empty  wallet,  a  perfect  type  of  reckless 
misery,  was  lying  in  the  bow,  curled  up  on  a  great 
pile  of  ropes.  One  of  the  rowers,  an  old  sailor 
who  had  known  her  when  she  was  lovely  and  rich, 
had  taken  her  aboard,  in  accordance  with  the  admi- 
rable expression  of  the  common  people,  for  the  love 
of  God. 

"  Thank  you,  Thomas,"  the  old  woman  had  said; 
"  I'll  say  two  Paters  and  two  Aves  for  you  in  my 
prayers  to-night." 

The  skipper  blew  the  horn  for  the  last  time,  cast 
his  eye  over  the  silent  fields,  threw  the  chain  into 
the  boat,  ran  along  the  rail  to  the  stern,  seized  the 
tiller,  and  stood  there  as  the  boat  drew  away  from 
the  pier;  then,  after  looking  up  at  the  sky  and  when 
they  were  in  clear  water,  he  shouted  to  his  rowers 
in  a  ringing  voice: 

"  Pull,  pull  hard  and  fast!  The  sea  has  a  squally 
smile,  the  old  hag!  I  feel  the  swell  in  the  way  the 
rudder  moves,  and  the  wind  in  my  old  wounds." 

Those  words,  in  the  jargon  of  the  sea,  a  language 


10  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

intelligible  only  to  the  ears  that  are  accustomed  to 
the  noise  of  the  waves,  gave  to  the  oars  a  hurried 
but  always  rhythmical  stroke;  a  united  movement, 
as  different  from  the  previous  style  of  rowing  as  a 
horse's  gallop  is  from  his  trot.  The  aristocrats  at 
the  stern  took  pleasure  in  watching  all  those  brawny 
arms,  those  brown  faces  with  eyes  of  fire,  those 
strained  muscles,  and  those  diverse  human  forces 
acting  in  concert  to  ferry  them  across  the  strait  for 
a  trifling  toll.  Far  from  deploring  their  poverty, 
those  people  called  one  another's  attention  laugh- 
ingly to  the  grotesque  expressions  which  the  ex- 
ertion imparted  to  their  distorted  features.  In  the 
bow,  the  soldier,  the  peasant,  and  the  old  woman 
gazed  at  the  oarsmen  with  the  sympathy  natural  to 
persons  who,  as  they  live  by  toil,  are  familiar  with 
the  intense  suffering  and  feverish  fatigue  it  causes. 
Moreover,  being  accustomed  to  life  in  the  open  air, 
they  all  realized  from  the  appearance  of  the  sky  the 
danger  that  threatened  them,  and  therefore  they 
were  all  serious.  The  young  mother  rocked  her 
child  in  her  arms,  crooning  an  old  church  hymn  to 
soothe  him  to  sleep. 

"  If  we  get  there,"  said  the  soldier  to  the  peasant, 
"the  good  Lord  will  show  that  He's  obstinate  about 
letting  us  live." 

"  Oh!  He's  the  Master,"  interposed  the  old  crone, 
"but  I  think  it's  His  pleasure  to  call  us  to  Him. 
Look  at  that  light  over  yonder!" 

With  a  movement  of  her  head,  she  pointed  to  the 
west,  where  bands  of  flame  stood  out  vividly  against 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  II 

a  bank  of  brown,  red-edged  clouds  which  seemed  on 
the  point  of  setting  free  a  furious  gale.  The  sea 
made  a  dull,  muttering  sound,  a  sort  of  inward  rum- 
bling, not  unlike  the  voice  of  a  dog  when  he  growls. 
But,  after  all,  Ostend  was  not  far  away.  At  that 
moment,  sky  and  sea  presented  one  of  those  spec- 
tacles to  which  it  is  impossible,  perhaps,  for 
painting,  as  for  poetry,  to  give  a  longer  duration 
than  they  really  have.  Human  creations  demand 
striking  contrasts.  So  it  is  that  artists  generally 
seek  at  Nature's  hands  its  most  gorgeous  phenom- 
ena, despairing  doubtless  of  their  ability  to  interpret 
the  grand  and  beautiful  poesy  of  its  everyday  aspect, 
although  the  human  mind  is  often  as  deeply  moved 
in  calm  as  in  confusion,  by  silence  as  by  the  tempest. 
There  was  a  moment  when  everyone  on  the  boat 
was  silent,  gazing  at  sea  and  sky,  whether  from  a 
presentiment,  or  in  obedience  to  that  religious  melan- 
choly which  seizes  almost  all  of  us  at  the  hour  of 
prayer,  at  nightfall,  at  the  moment  when  Nature  is 
silent  and  the  church-bells  speak.  The  sea  cast  a 
white,  pale  reflection,  changing,  however,  and  not 
unlike  the  colors  of  steel.  The  sky  was  generally 
of  a  grayish  hue.  In  the  west  were  long  narrow 
bands  like  waves  of  blood,  while  in  the  east,  gleam- 
ing lines,  as  sharply  defined  as  if  drawn  by  a  fine 
pencil,  were  separated  by  dark  clouds  lying  in  folds, 
like  wrinkles  on  an  old  man's  forehead.  Thus  on 
all  sides,  the  sea  and  sky  had  a  sombre  look,  all  in 
half-tones,  which  threw  into  bold  relief  the  ominous 
flames  of  the  setting  sun.  That  aspect  of  Nature 


12  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

inspired  a  feeling  of  deep  awe.  If  it  were  permis- 
sible to  import  the  bold  metaphors  of  the  common 
people  into  written  language,  we  might  repeat  what 
the  soldier  said,  that  "  the  weather  was  on  the  run," 
or  what  the  peasant  replied,  that  "the  sky  looked 
like  a  hangman."  The  wind  suddenly  sprung  up 
from  the  westward,  and  the  skipper,  who  had  not 
taken  his  eyes  from  the  water,  seeing  the  swell 
rising  on  the  horizon,  cried  out: 

"Hold  hard!  hold  hard!" 

At  that  cry,  the  oarsmen  at  once  ceased  rowing 
and  lay  on  their  oars. 

"  The  skipper's  right,"  said  Thomas,  coolly,  when 
the  boat,  after  rising  to  the  crest  of  a  huge  wave, 
rushed  down  as  if  into  a  deep  abyss  opened  by  the 
sea. 

At  that  extraordinary  movement,  at  that  sudden 
outburst  of  wrath  on  the  part  of  old  Ocean,  the  pas- 
sengers at  the  stern  turned  pale  as  death  and  uttered 
a  piercing  shriek: 

"We  are  lost!" 

"  Oh!  no,  not  yet,"  rejoined  the  skipper,  calmly. 

At  that  moment,  the  clouds  were  torn  asunder  by 
the  wind  directly  over  the  boat.  The  gray  masses 
having  spread  out  with  ominous  celerity  to  east  and 
west,  the  twilight  gleam  fell  full  upon  the  boat 
through  the  rift  made  by  the  storm  and  enabled  the 
passengers  to  see  one  another's  faces.  Noble  and 
wealthy,  sailors  and  paupers,  all  alike  were  struck 
dumb  with  amazement  at  the  aspect  of  the  last 
comer.  His  golden  hair,  parted  in  two  bands  above 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  13 

His  serene  and  placid  brow,  fell  In  numberless  curls 
over  His  shoulders,  outlining  against  the  gray  atmos- 
phere a  face  of  sublime  sweetness,  wherein  the  di- 
vine love  shone  resplendent.  He  did  not  despise 
death,  He  was  certain  of  not  dying. 

But,  although  the  people  at  the  stern  forgot  for  a 
moment  the  implacable  fury  of  the  tempest  that 
threatened  them,  they  soon  reverted  to  their  selfish- 
ness and  their  life-long  habits. 

"  That  stupid  burgomaster  is  very  fortunate  not  to 
see  the  danger  that  threatens  us  all !  He  sits  there 
like  a  dog  and  will  die  without  distress,"  said  the 
professor. 

He  had  barely  given  expression  to  that  seemingly 
just  sentiment  when  the  tempest  set  free  its  legions. 
The  wind  blew  from  all  directions,  the  boat  whirled 
about  like  a  top,  and  the  water  came  in. 

"  Oh !  my  poor  child  !  my  poor  child  ! — Who  will 
save  my  child?"  cried  the  mother,  in  a  heart-rending 
voice. 

"  You  yourself,"  replied  the  stranger. 

The  clear  note  of  that  voice  entered  the  young 
mother's  heart  and  planted  hope  therein;  she  heard 
that  comforting  word  despite  the  howling  of  the  gale, 
despite  the  shrieks  of  the  passengers. 

"  Blessed  Virgin  of  Succor,  who  dwellest  at  Ant- 
werp, I  promise  you  a  thousand  pounds  of  wax  and 
a  statue  if  you  bring  me  safely  out  of  this!"  cried 
the  burgher,  kneeling  on  his  sacks  of  gold. 

"  The  Virgin  is  no  more  at  Antwerp  than  she  is 
here,"  observed  the  professor. 


14  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

"  She  is  in  heaven,"  said  a  voice  that  seemed  to 
come  from  the  sea. 

"  Who  can  it  be  that  spoke?" 

"It  was  the  devil!"  cried  the  servant,  "he  is 
making  fun  of  the  Virgin  of  Antwerp!" 

"Drop  your  Blessed  Virgin,"  said  the  skipper  to 
the  passengers.  "  Just  take  these  buckets  and  bale 
out  the  boat. — And  you  fellows,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  oarsmen,  "  row  steady!  We  have  a  moment's 
lull;  in  the  name  of  the  devil  who  lets  you  stay  in 
this  world,  let's  be  our  own  providence. — This  little 
channel's  an  infernally  dangerous  place,  as  everyone 
knows,  and  I've  been  crossing  it  these  thirty  years. 
Is  to-night  the  first  time  I  have  fought  a  gale?" 

Then,  standing  at  the  helm,  the  skipper  continued 
to  look  at  his  boat,  the  sky,  and  the  sea,  in  succes- 
sion. 

"  He  always  laughs  at  everything,  does  the  skip- 
per," said  Thomas,  in  an  undertone. 

"Will  God  let  us  die  with  those  wretches?"  the 
haughty  young  woman  asked  the  handsome  young 
nobleman. 

"  No,  no,  noble  lady. — Listen!" 

He  drew  her  toward  him,  and  said  in  her  ear: 

"  I  know  how  to  swim,  but  do  not  mention  it!  I 
will  take  you  by  your  lovely  hair  and  carry  you 
safely  to  the  shore;  but  I  can  save  none  but  you!" 

The  young  woman  looked  at  her  aged  mother. 
She  was  on  her  knees  asking  absolution  for  some- 
thing from  the  bishop,  who  was  not  listening  to  her. 
The  chevalier  read  in  his  lovely  mistress's  eyes  a 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  15 

faint  trace  of  filial  affection,  and  said  to  her,  in  a 
hollow  voice: 

"  Submit  to  the  will  of  God  !  If  it  is  His  will  to 
call  your  mother  to  Him,  doubtless  it  will  be  for  her 
welfare — in  the  other  world,"  he  added,  in  a  still 
lower  tone. — "And  for  ours  in  this,"  he  thought. 

The  Lady  of  the  Rupelmonde  possessed  seven  fiefs 
besides  the  Barony  of  Ga"vres.  The  young  woman 
listened  to  the  voice  of  her  life,  the  interests  of  her 
love  speaking  through  the  mouth  of  the  handsome 
adventurer,  a  young  miscreant  who  haunted  the 
churches  in  search  of  a  victim,  a  marriageable  girl 
or  good  hard  cash.  The  bishop  blessed  the  waves 
and  bade  them  be  calm,  but  with  little  faith;  he 
was  thinking  of  his  concubine  who  awaited  his 
coming  with  a  delicious  repast,  who  at  that  moment, 
perhaps,  was  going  to  the  bath,  perfuming  herself, 
arraying  herself  in  velvet,  or  fastening  the  clasps 
of  her  necklaces  and  jewels.  Far  from  thinking 
of  the  power  of  the  Holy  Church  and  giving  com- 
fort to  the  Christians  about  him  by  exhorting  them 
to  trust  in  God,  the  wicked  bishop  intermingled 
worldly  regrets  and  words  of  love  with  the  sacred 
words  of  the  breviary.  The  gleam  that  lighted 
up  those  pallid  faces  made  visible  their  widely- 
differing  expressions  when  the  boat  was  lifted  high 
in  air  by  a  wave,  then  hurled  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  abyss,  then  shaken  like  a  fragile  leaf,  the 
plaything  of  the  north  wind  in  the  autumn,  and  its 
hull  cracked  and  groaned  and  seemed  on  the  point 
of  going  to  pieces.  Then  there  were  frightful  cries 


16  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

followed  by  frightful  pauses.  The  attitudes  of  the 
persons  seated  in  the  bow  contrasted  strangely  with 
those  of  the  rich  and  powerful  passengers.  The 
young  mother  strained  her  child  to  her  breast  each 
time  that  the  waves  threatened  to  engulf  the  fragile 
bark;  but  she  trusted  to  the  hope  that  the  stranger's 
words  had  planted  in  her  heart;  each  time  she  turned 
her  eyes  toward  that  man  and  derived  from  His  face 
renewed  faith,  the  steadfast  faith  of  a  weak  woman, 
the  faith  of  a  mother.  Living  in  the  Divine  Word,  in 
the  words  of  love  let  fall  by  Him,  the  simple  creature 
awaited  with  confidence  the  execution  of  that  species 
of  promise,  and  hardly  dreaded  the  peril.  Glued  to 
the  gunwale  of  the  boat,  the  soldier  kept  his  eyes 
fastened  upon  that  strange  being,  modelling  the  ex- 
pression of  his  own  rough,  bronzed  face  upon  His 
impassive  expression,  by  exerting  his  intelligence 
and  his  will,  whose  vast  energies  had  been  somewhat 
impaired  during  a  passive,  automatic  sort  of  life; 
with  a  jealous  determination  to  appear  as  calm  and 
undisturbed  as  that  man  of  higher  courage,  he  ended 
by  identifying  himself,  unknowingly,  perhaps,  with 
the  secret  principle  of  that  inward  power.  There- 
upon his  admiration  became  a  sort  of  instinctive 
fanaticism,  a  love  without  bounds,  a  firm  faith  in 
that  man,  like  the  enthusiasm  soldiers  feel  for  their 
leader,  when  he  is  a  man  of  powerful  character, 
surrounded  by  the  glamour  of  victories  and  the  glori- 
ous prestige  of  genius.  The  poor  old  crone  said  in 
a  low  voice: 

"Ah!  vile  sinner  that  I  am!  have  I  suffered  enough 


JESUS   CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 


Thereupon  the  stranger  ivith  the  luminous  visage 
spoke  to  that  little  world  of  sorrow  : 

"Those  who  have  faith  shall  be  saved !  let  them 
follow  Me.'" 

He  stood  erect  and  walked  with  a  Jinn  step  upon 
the  waves.  Instantly  the  young  mother  took  her 
child  in  her  arms  and  walked  beside  Him. 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  17 

to  atone  for  the  pleasures  of  my  youth  ?  Ah !  wretched 
woman,  why  did  you  lead  the  joyous  life  of  a  cour- 
tesan, why  did  you  squander  God's  belongings  with 
men  of  the  Church,  and  the  belongings  of  the  poor 
with  usurers  and  excisemen? — Ah!  I  have  sinned 
grievously. — O  my  God  !  my  God !  let  me  end  my 
hell  on  this  abode  of  misery!" 

Or  else: 

"  Blessed  Virgin,  Mother  of  God,  have  pity  on 
me!" 

"Console  yourself,  mother,  the  good  Lord  is  no 
usurer.  Although  I  may  have  killed  right  and  left, 
good  and  bad  alike,  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  resurrec- 
tion." 

"Ah!  my  fine  officer,  how  lucky  those  fine  ladies 
are  to  be  with  a  bishop,  a  holy  man!"  rejoined  the 
old  woman;  "they'll  get  absolution  for  their  sins. 
Oh!  if  I  could  hear  a  priest's  voice  say:  'Your  sins 
shall  be  forgiven,'  I  would  believe  it !" 

The  stranger  turned  toward  her,  and  his  kindly 
glance  made  her  tremble. 

"  Have  faith,"  he  said,  "  and  you  shall  be  saved." 

"  May  God  reward  you,  kind  gentleman,"  she  re- 
plied. "  If  you  tell  the  truth,  I  will  make  a  pilgrim- 
age, barefooted,  to  Notre-Dame  de  Lorette,  for  you 
and  for  myself." 

The  two  peasants,  father  and  son,  held  their  peace, 
resigned  and  submissive  to  the  will  of  God,  like  men 
accustomed  to  follow  instinctively,  as  animals  do, 
the  impulse  imparted  to  their  natures.  Thus,  on  the 
one  side,  wealth,  pride,  learning,  debauchery,  crime, 


1 8  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

an  epitome  of  human  society  as  it  is  constituted  by 
the  arts,  reflection,  education,  the  world  and  its  laws; 
but  also,  on  that  side  only,  shrieks,  terror,  a  multi- 
tude of  varying  feelings  wrestling  with  horrible 
doubts;  there,  and  there  only,  the  agony  of  fear. 
Next,  towering  above  those  creatures,  a  powerful 
man,  the  master  of  the  boat,  doubting  nothing,  the 
leader,  the  fatalistic  king,  making  himself  his  own 
providence  by  crying:  "Blessed  Bucket!"  instead 
of  "  Blessed  Virgin!" — in  short,  defying  the  storm 
and  struggling  with  the  sea  breast  to  breast.  And 
at  the  other  end  of  the  boat — the  weak! — the  mother 
rocking  on  her  breast  a  little  child  who  smiled  at  the 
storm;  a  prostitute,  once  joyous  and  careless,  now 
in  the  clutches  of  horrible  remorse;  a  soldier  riddled 
with  wounds,  with  no  other  reward  than  his  mutilated 
body  for  a  life  of  unwearying  devotion:  he  had  hardly 
more  than  a  crust  of  bread  wet  with  tears,  yet  he 
laughed  at  everything  and  went  his  way  without 
care,  happy  when  he  was  drowning  his  glory  in  a 
pot  of  beer,  or  narrating  his  glorious  exploits  to  chil- 
dren who  followed  him  admiringly;  gayly  he  en- 
trusted to  God  the  care  of  his  future; — and  lastly, 
two  peasants,  men  of  labor  and  fatigue,  toil  incar- 
nate, the  labor  by  which  the  world  lives.  Those 
simple  creatures  cared  nothing  for  thought  and  its 
treasures,  but  were  ready  to  bury  them  in  a  belief, 
their  faith  being  the  more  robust  in  that  they  had 
never  discussed  or  analyzed  it;  virgin  natures  wherein 
the  conscience  had  remained  pure  and  the  senti- 
ment powerful;  remorse,  misfortune,  love,  toil,  had 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  19 

exercised,  purified,  concentrated,  redoubled  their 
will,  the  only  thing  in  man  which  resembles  what 
scholars  call  a  soul. 

When  the  boat,  guided  by  the  wonderful  skill  of 
the  skipper,  was  almost  in  sight  of  Ostend  and  only 
fifty  paces  from  the  shore,  she  was  blown  off  by  a 
fierce  squall  and  instantly  foundered. 

Thereupon  the  stranger  with  the  luminous  visage 
spoke  to  that  little  world  of  sorrow: 

"  Those  who  have  faith  shall  be  saved  !  let  them 
follow  Me!" 

He  stood  erect  and  walked  with  a  firm  step  upon 
the  waves.  Instantly  the  young  mother  took  her 
child  in  her  arms  and  walked  beside  Him.  The 
soldier  suddenly  arose,  saying  in  his  artless  lan- 
guage: 

"Ah!  nom  d'une  pipe!  I'll  follow  You  to  the 
devil." 

Whereupon,  with  no  indication  of  surprise,  he 
walked  upon  the  sea.  The  old  woman,  believing  in 
God's  omnipotence,  followed  the  man  and  walked 
upon  the  sea.  The  two  peasants  said  to  themselves: 

"As  they  walk  upon  the  water,  why  should  not 
we  do  as  they  do?" 

They  rose  and  hurried  after  them,  walking  upon 
the  sea.  Thomas  tried  to  imitate  them;  but  as  his 
faith  wavered,  he  fell  several  times  into  the  sea  and 
rose  again;  at  last,  after  three  trials,  he  walked  upon 
the  sea.  The  bold  skipper  clung  like  a  barnacle  to 
a  plank  from  his  boat.  The  miser  had  faith  and 
rose;  but  he  tried  to  take  his  gold,  and  his  gold 


20  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

dragged  him  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Making  sport 
of  the  impostor  and  the  imbeciles  who  listened  to 
him,  the  professor,  when  he  heard  the  stranger  pro- 
pose to  the  passengers  to  walk  upon  the  waves,  be- 
gan to  laugh  and  was  swallowed  up  by  the  Ocean. 
The  young  woman  was  dragged  down  into  the  abyss 
by  her  lover.  The  bishop  and  the  old  lady  went  to 
the  bottom,  heavy  with  crimes,  perhaps,  but  even 
heavier  with  incredulity,  with  confidence  in  false 
images;  heavy  with  false  devotion,  but  unburdened 
by  alms-giving  and  true  religious  feeling. 

The  little  troop  of  true  believers  who  trod  with  a 
firm  tread  and  dryshod  the  plain  of  angry  water  heard 
the  awful  roaring  of  the  gale  about  them.  Enormous 
waves  broke  upon  their  path.  An  invincible  force 
rent  the  Ocean.  Through  the  spray  the  faithful 
espied  in  the  distance,  on  the  shore,  a  small,  faint 
light  twinkling  in  the  windows  of  a  fisherman's  hut. 
As  they  walked  courageously  on  toward  that  glimmer, 
each  fancied  that  he  heard  his  neighbor  crying  above 
the  roaring  of  the  waves:  "  Courage!"  And  yet  not 
one  of  them  said  a  word,  for  all  were  intent  upon 
their  danger.  Thus  they  came  safely  to  the  shore. 
When  they  were  all  seated  by  the  fisherman's  fire, 
they  looked  in  vain  for  their  luminous  Guide.  From 
the  summit  of  a  rock  against  whose  base  the  tempest 
tossed  the  skipper,  clinging  to  his  plank  with  the 
strength  that  sailors  put  forth  in  their  combats  with 
death,  THE  MAN  went  down,  rescued  the  almost  life- 
less castaway;  then  He  said,  stretching  out  a  helping 
hand  over  his  head: 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  21 

"  For  this  time  'tis  well,  but  tempt  not  fate  again; 
'twould  be  too  evil  an  example." 

He  took  the  sailor  on  His  shoulders  and  bore  him 
to  the  fisherman's  hut.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  so 
that  that  humble  place  of  refuge  might  be  thrown 
open  to  the  unfortunate  man;  then  the  Saviour  dis- 
appeared. On  that  spot  the  convent  of  La  Merci  was 
built  for  shipwrecked  sailors,  and  there  for  many 
years  one  might  see  the  footprints  that  the  feet  of 
Jesus  Christ  had  made,  so  it  was  said,  upon  the 
sand.  In  1793,  at  the  time  of  the  French  invasion  of 
Belgium,  the  monks  carried  away  that  priceless  relic, 
the  evidence  of  the  last  visit  Jesus  made  to  earth. 

There  it  was  that  I,  weary  of  life,  found  myself 
some  time  after  the  Revolution  of  1830.  If  you  had 
asked  me  the  cause  of  my  despair,  it  would  have 
been  well-nigh  impossible  for  me  to  tell  it  to  you,  my 
mind  had  become  so  limp  and  flaccid.  The  springs 
of  my  intellect  relaxed  before  the  blasts  of  the  west- 
erly wind.  A  black  frost  descended  from  the  sky, 
and  the  dark  clouds  that  passed  over  my  head  gave 
nature  a  sinister  look;  the  vast  expanse  of  the  sea — 
everything  said  to  me:  "Whether  death  comes  to- 
day or  to-morrow,  must  one  not  die? — and  then — " 
I  strayed  about,  therefore,  thinking  of  an  uncertain 
future,  of  my  disappointed  hopes.  A  prey  to  such 
depressing  thoughts,  I  mechanically  entered  the 
church  of  the  convent,  whose  gray  towers  loomed 
like  phantoms  through  the  mist  from  the  sea.  I 
gazed  without  enthusiasm  at  that  forest  of  pillars 
whose  leafy  capitals  sustain  the  slender  arches — a 


22  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

graceful  labyrinth.  I  walked  heedlessly  through  the 
lateral  naves  which  spread  out  before  me  like  por- 
ticoes turning  on  their  own  axes.  The  uncertain 
light  of  an  autumn  day  enabled  me  to  see  but  dimly 
the  carved  keystones  of  the  arches,  the  delicate 
tracery  that  outlined  so  clearly  the  angles  of  all  the 
graceful  rafters.  The  organs  were  silent.  Only 
the  sound  of  my  footsteps  awakened  the  solemn 
echoes  hidden  in  the  dark  chapels.  I  seated  myself 
by  one  of  the  four  pillars  which  support  the  dome, 
near  the  choir.  From  that  point  my  eyes  embraced 
the  whole  interior  of  the  structure,  which  I  gazed 
upon  without  a  thought  for  my  surroundings.  The 
mechanical  movement  of  my  eyes  alone  showed  me 
the  impressive  labyrinth  of  all  those  pillars,  the 
immense  carved  rose-windows,  suspended  like  net- 
work, as  if  by  miraculous  means,  above  the  lateral 
doors  and  the  main  portal,  the  galleries  high  in  air 
where  slender  columns  separated  the  windows,  sur- 
mounted by  arches,  by  trefoil  or  by  flowers,  a  lovely 
filigree  in  stone.  At  the  end  of  the  choir  a  dome  of 
glass  sparkled  as  if  it  were  constructed  of  precious 
stones  set  with  great  skill.  To  right  and  left,  in  con- 
trast with  that  dome,  which  was  of  white  and  colored 
glass  in  alternate  rows,  were  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
two  long  naves,  in  whose  depths  could  be  seen  indis- 
tinctly the  shafts  of  a  hundred  gray  columns.  As  I 
gazed  at  those  marvellous  arches,  those  arabesques, 
those  garlands,  those  spirals,  those  Saracenic  fan- 
tasies, inextricably  interlaced  with  one  another,  and 
all  lighted  by  a  weird  light,  my  perceptions  became 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  23 

confused.  I  found  myself,  as  it  were,  on  the  di- 
viding line  between  illusion  and  reality,  caught  in 
the  snares  of  optical  delusions,  and  almost  bewil- 
dered by  the  multitude  of  different  points  of  view. 
Insensibly  the  carved  stones  became  indistinct,  I  saw 
them  only  through  a  cloud  composed  of  golden  dust 
like  that  which  darts  about  in  the  bands  of  light 
formed  by  a  sunbeam  in  a  room.  In  the  midst  of  that 
vaporous  atmosphere  which  made  all  outlines  vague, 
the  lace-work  of  the  rose-windows  suddenly  shone 
forth  resplendent.  Each  delicate  nerve  and  line, 
each  trivial  detail,  gleamed  like  burnished  silver. 
The  sun  kindled  fires  in  the  panes  of  glass,  whose 
rich  colors  sparkled  gayly.  The  pillars  swayed, 
their  capitals  moved  gently  to  and  fro.  A  caressing 
shudder  shook  the  edifice  and  its  friezes  moved  with 
cautious  grace.  Several  large  pillars  went  through 
divers  solemn  evolutions  like  the  motions  of  a  dow- 
ager who  obligingly  walks  through  a  quadrille  at  the 
close  of  a  ball.  Some  straight,  slender  columns  be- 
gan to  laugh  and  gambol,  arrayed  in  their  wreaths  of 
trefoil.  Pointed  arches  collided  with  the  long,  nar- 
row windows,  which  resembled  the  ladies  of  the 
Middle  Ages  who  wore  their  family  crests  painted 
on  their  dresses  of  cloth  of  gold.  The  dance  of 
those  mitred  arches  with  those  coquettish  windows 
was  like  a  combat  in  the  lists.  Soon  every  stone  in 
the  church  began  to  vibrate,  but  without  changing 
its  position.  The  organs  spoke  and  filled  my  ears 
with  divine  melody,  with  which  were  mingled  angels' 
voices,  music  of  incredible  sweetness,  accompanied  by 


24  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

the  deep  bass  of  the  bells  whose  ringing  indicated  that 
the  two  colossal  towers  were  swaying  on  their  solid 
foundations.  That  strange  witches'  Sabbath  seemed 
to  me  the  most  natural  thing  on  earth,  for  I  am  not 
easily  surprised  after  having  seen  Charles  X.  over- 
thrown. I  was  myself  swayed  gently  as  if  I  were 
sitting  in  a  swing,  which  gave  me  a  sort  of  nervous 
pleasure,  but  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  de- 
scribe it.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  that  scene  of 
glowing  excitement,  the  choir  of  the  church  seemed 
to  me  as  cold  as  if  winter  were  reigning  there.  I 
saw  there  a  multitude  of  women  dressed  in  white, 
motionless  and  silent.  A  number  of  censers  exhaled 
a  sweet  perfume  which  penetrated  my  soul  and  re- 
joiced it.  The  tapers  burned  brightly.  The  read- 
ing-desk, gay  as  a  minstrel  in  his  cups,  leaped  like  a 
Chinese  hat.  I  discovered  that  the  cathedral  was 
whirling  round  and  round  so  swiftly  that  everything 
remained  in  its  place.  The  colossal  Christ,  from  His 
place  above  the  altar,  smiled  at  me  with  a  malicious 
kindliness  that  made  me  afraid,  and  I  looked  away 
from  Him  to  gaze  in  admiration  at  a  bluish  vapor 
stealing  among  the  pillars  in  the  distance  and  im- 
parting an  indescribable  charm  to  them.  Several 
fascinating  female  figures  in  the  friezes  moved  their 
limbs.  The  cherubs  who  upheld  great  pillars  flapped 
their  wings.  I  felt  myself  uplifted  by  a  divine  power 
which  plunged  me  into  infinite  joy,  a  sweet  and  lan- 
guorous ecstasy.  I  believe  that  I  would  have  given 
my  life  to  prolong  the  duration  of  that  phantasma- 
goria, but  suddenly  a  shrill  voice  cried  in  my  ear: 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  25 

"  Wake  up  and  follow  me!" 

A  withered  old  woman  took  my  hand  and  made 
my  nerves  tingle  with  a  horrible  sensation  of  cold. 
Her  bones  were  visible  through  the  skin  of  her  pallid, 
almost  greenish-hued  face.  The  cold  little  old  crea- 
ture wore  a  black  dress  that  dragged  in  the  dust, 
and  had  at  her  neck  something  white  which  I  dared 
not  examine.  Her  staring  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
sky  so  that  only  the  whites  could  be  seen.  She  led 
me  through  the  church,  marking  her  path  with  the 
ashes  that  fell  from  her  dress.  As  she  walked,  her 
bones  rattled  like  a  skeleton's.  Step  by  step,  as  we 
proceeded,  I  heard  behind  me  the  tinkling  of  a  little 
bell,  whose  jangling  notes  rang  in  my  brain  like 
those  of  a  harmonica. 

"  You  must  suffer!  you  must  suffer!"  it  said  to  me. 

We  left  the  church  and  passed  through  the  vilest 
streets  in  the  city;  then  she  took  me  into  a  gloomy 
house,  crying  in  a  voice  as  harsh  and  discordant  as 
that  of  a  cracked  bell : 

"  Defend  me!  defend  me!" 

We  ascended  a  winding  staircase.  When  she 
knocked  at  a  door  in  the  shadow,  a  man,  dumb 
like  the  familiars  of  the  Inquisition,  opened  it.  We 
found  ourselves  in  a  room  hung  with  ragged  old 
tapestry,  full  of  old  linen,  faded  muslins,  and  gilded 
copper. 

"  Here  is  everlasting  wealth,"  she  said. 

I  shuddered  with  horror,  when  I  saw  plainly, 
by  the  light  of  a  long  candle  and  two  tapers,  that 
the  woman  must  recently  have  come  forth  from  the 


26  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

cemetery.  She  had  no  hair.  I  tried  to  fly;  she  put 
out  her  skeleton  arm  and  surrounded  me  with  a  circle 
of  iron  armed  with  spikes.  At  that  movement  a  cry 
uttered  by  millions  of  voices,  the  cheer  of  the  dead, 
echoed  around  us. 

"  I  intend  to  make  you  happy  forever/'  she  said. 
"  You  are  my  son!" 

We  were  sitting  by  a  fireplace  in  which  the  ashes 
were  cold.  The  little  old  woman  held  my  hand  in 
such  a  strong  grasp  that  I  was  compelled  to  remain 
there.  I  gazed  fixedly  at  her  and  tried  to  divine  the 
story  of  her  life  by  scrutinizing  the  rags  in  which 
she  crouched  by  my  side.  But  was  she  alive?  That 
was  a  veritable  mystery.  I  saw  clearly  that  she 
must  once  have  been  young  and  lovely,  adorned 
with  all  the  charms  of  simplicity,  a  veritable  Grecian 
statue  with  the  spotless  brow. 

"Aha!"  I  said,  "now  I  recognize  you.  Unhappy 
woman,  why  did  you  prostitute  yourself  to  men? 
At  the  age  when  passions  enslave,  you  became  rich, 
you  forgot  your  pure,  sweet  girlhood,  your  sublime 
self-sacrifice,  your  innocence,  your  fruitful  faith,  and 
you  abdicated  your  original  power,  your  intellectual 
supremacy,  for  the  powers  of  the  flesh.  Abandoning 
your  linen  vestments,  your  couch  of  soft  moss,  your 
grottoes  illumined  by  divine  rays,  you  preferred  to 
shine  resplendent  in  diamonds,  in  luxury,  in  lust. 
Audacious,  proud,  desiring  everything,  obtaining 
everything,  and  overturning  everything  in  your 
path,  like  a  popular  courtesan  hurrying  to  her 
pleasures,  you  were  as  sanguinary  as  a  queen 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  27 

dazed  by  arbitrary  power.  Do  you  not  remember 
that  you  were  stupefied  at  times,  then  suddenly 
remarkably  clear-sighted,  after  the  pattern  of  Art 
coming  forth  from  a  debauch?  Poet,  painter,  song- 
stress, fond  of  splendid  ceremonials,  you  patronized 
the  arts  only  from  caprice,  and  so  that  you  might 
sleep  beneath  magnificent  hangings.  Did  you  not 
one  day,  in  your  capricious  insolence, — you  who 
should  be  chaste  and  modest, — force  everybody  to 
bow  down  to  your  slipper,  and  fling  it  at  the  head 
of  sovereigns  who  had  earthly  power,  wealth,  and 
talent?  Forever  insulting  man,  and  taking  pleasure 
in  seeing  how  low  human  folly  would  stoop,  some- 
times you  would  bid  your  lovers  walk  on  all  fours, 
give  you  their  property,  their  treasures,  their  wives 
even,  when  they  were  of  any  value!  Without  mo- 
tive you  have  ruined  millions  of  men,  you  have 
driven  them  like  sand-clouds  from  West  to  East. 
You  have  descended  from  the  lofty  heights  of 
thought  to  take  your  seat  beside  kings.  Woman, 
instead  of  consoling  men,  you  have  tortured,  afflicted 
them!  You  demanded  blood,  sure  of  obtaining  it ! 
And  yet  you  might  have  been  content  with  a  little 
flour,  brought  up  as  you  were  to  eat  cakes  and  put 
water  in  your  wine.  Original  in  everything,  you 
once  forbade  your  famished  lovers  to  eat,  and  they 
did  not  eat.  Why  did  you  carry  your  extravagance 
so  far  as  to  wish  for  the  impossible?  Why,  like  a 
courtesan  spoiled  by  her  adorers,  did  you  rave  over 
idiotic  trifles  and  refrain  from  undeceiving  those  who 
explained  or  justified  all  your  errors?  At  last,  you 


28  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

came  to  the  end  of  your  passions.  Terrible  as  the 
love  of  a  woman  of  forty  years,  you  roared  aloud ! 
you  sought  to  clasp  the  whole  universe  in  a  last 
embrace,  and  the  universe  that  belonged  to  you 
escaped  you.  Then,  after  the  young  men,  old  men 
came  to  your  feet,  impotent  creatures  who  made 
you  hideous.  Nevertheless,  some  men  with  the 
keen  eye  of  the  eagle  said  to  you,  with  a  glance: 
'You  shall  die  without  renown  because  you  have 
deceived,  because  you  have  broken  your  promises 
as  a  girl.  Instead  of  being  an  angel  with  peaceful 
brow,  instead  of  sowing  light  and  happiness  along 
your  pathway,  you  have  been  a  Messalina,  fond  of 
the  circus  and  of  orgies,  abusing  your  power!  You 
can  never  again  be  a  virgin,  you  must  have  a  mas- 
ter. Your  time  has  come.  You  already  feel  the 
hand  of  death.  Your  heirs  think  you  rich,  they 
will  kill  you  and  obtain  nothing.  Try  at  least  to 
throw  aside  those  clothes  of  yours,  which  are  no 
longer  in  fashion,  and  become  what  you  once  were. 
But  no!  you  have  committed  suicide!' — Is  not  that 
your  story?"  I  said  to  her  in  conclusion;  "old, 
decayed,  toothless,  chilly,  forgotten  now,  and  unob- 
served as  you  pass?  Why  do  you  live?  Why  wear 
your  soliciting  garb  which  arouses  no  one's  desire? 
Where  is  your  fortune?  why  have  you  squandered 
it?  Where  are  your  treasures?  What  noble  thing 
have  you  done?" 

At  that  question,  the  little  old  woman  stood  erect 
on  her  bones,  threw  off  her  rags,  increased  in  stat- 
ure, emerged  smiling  and  resplendent  from  her  black 


JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS  29 

chrysalis.  Then,  like  a  new-born  butterfly,  that 
tropical  creature  came  forth  from  her  palms,  ap- 
peared before  me  a  fair,  young  girl,  clad  in  a  robe 
of  spotless  linen.  Her  golden  hair  fell  over  her 
shoulders,  her  eyes  sparkled,  a  luminous  cloud  en- 
veloped her,  a  circle  of  gold  fluttered  about  her  head; 
she  waved  her  hand  toward  space,  brandishing  a 
long  sword  of  fire. 

"See  and  believe!"  she  said. 

Suddenly  I  saw  in  the  distance  tens  of  thousands 
of  cathedrals  like  the  one  I  had  just  left,  but  deco- 
rated with  pictures  and  frescoes;  I  heard  entrancing 
music.  Myriads  of  men  swarmed  around  those  edi- 
fices like  ants  in  their  ant-hills;  some  eager  to  save 
books  and  copy  manuscripts,  others  ministering  to 
the  poor,  almost  all  studying.  From  the  heart  of 
those  unnumbered  multitudes  arose  colossal  statues, 
reared  by  them.  By  the  strange  light  cast  by  a 
luminary  as  great  as  the  sun,  I  read  on  the  pedestals 
of  those  statues:  SCIENCE.  HISTORY.  LITERATURE. 

The  light  went  out,  I  found  myself  once  more 
alone  with  the  young  woman,  who  gradually  resumed 
her  lifeless  envelope,  her  mortuary  rags,  and  became 
old  once  more.  Her  familiar  brought  her  a  little 
coal-dust  to  renew  the  ashes  in  her  foot-warmer,  for 
the  weather  was  cold;  then  he  lighted  for  her — 
for  her  who  had  had  myriads  of  wax-candles  in  her 
palaces — a  little  night-lamp,  so  that  she  could  read 
her  prayers  during  the  night. 

"  Faith  is  dead  !"  she  said. 

Such  was  the  critical  situation  in  which  I  beheld 


30  JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 

the  most  beautiful,  the  most  immense,  the  truest,  the 
most  fruitful  of  all  powers. 

"Wake  up,  monsieur,  they're  going  to  close 
the  doors,"  said  a  hoarse  voice. 

Turning  my  head,  I  saw  the  repulsive  face  of  the 
dispenser  of  holy  water;  he  had  shaken  me  by 
the  arm.  I  found  the  cathedral  buried  in  darkness, 
like  a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak. 

"  To  believe,"  I  said  to  myself,  "is  to  live!  I 
have  just  seen  the  funeral  procession  of  a  monarchy; 
we  must  defend  the  CHURCH  !" 

Paris,  February  1831. 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED 


TO  MONSIEUR  LE  GENERAL  BARON  DE  POMMEREUL 

In  memory  of  the  unbroken  friendship  which 
united  our  fathers,  and  which  still  subsists  between 
their  sons. 

DE  BALZAC. 


There  is  one  variety  of  the  human  race  which 
civilization  produces  in  the  social  regime,  just  as  flor- 
ists create  in  the  vegetable  regime,  by  the  hot-house 
method,  a  hybrid  species  which  they  are  unable  to 
reproduce  either  from  seeds  or  by  grafting.  That 
variety  is  the  cashier,  a  genuine  anthropomorphic 
product,  watered  by  religious  ideas,  nourished  by 
the  guillotine,  pruned  by  vice,  which  grows  to  matu- 
rity in  a  third-floor  apartment,  between  an  estimable 
wife  and  tiresome  children.  The  number  of  cashiers 
in  Paris  will  always  be  a  problem  to  the  physiologist. 
Did  anyone  ever  understand  the  terms  of  the  propo- 
sition of  which  the  known  X  is  a  cashier?  To  find 
a  man  who  must  be  always  in  presence  of  wealth, 
like  a  cat  in  presence  of  a  mouse  in  a  cage?  to  find  a 
man  who  has  the  faculty  of  sitting  on  a  cane-seated 
chair  in  a  box  with  a  wire  grating,  where  he  has  no 
more  room  to  walk  than  a  ship's  officer  in  his  state- 
room, for  seven  or  eight  hours  a  day  during  seven- 
eighths  of  the  year?  to  find  a  man  whose  knees  and 
spinal  column  will  not  become  anchylosed  at  that 
trade?  a  man  who  is  great  enough  to  be  small?  a 
man  who  can  acquire  a  distaste  for  money  by  dint  of 
handling  it?  Apply  for  such  a  specimen  to  any 
religion,  any  code  of  morals,  any  college,  any  insti- 
tution on  earth,  and  mention  Paris,  that  city  of 
temptations,  that  training-ground  for  hell,  as  the 
(35) 


36  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

place  in  which  the  cashier  is  to  be  planted  !  Ah! 
well,  the  religions  will  all  appear  in  single  file,  col- 
leges, institutions,  moral  codes,  all  human  laws, 
great  and  small,  will  come  to  you  as  an  intimate 
friend  comes  when  you  ask  him  for  a  thousand-franc 
note.  They  will  put  on  a  mournful  expression,  they 
will  make  faces,  they  will  point  to  the  guillotine,  as 
your  friend  will  point  to  the  usurer's  place  of  busi- 
ness, one  of  the  hundred  doorways  to  the  alms-house. 
Nevertheless,  moral  nature  has  its  whims,  it  ventures 
to  produce  honest  men  and  honest  cashiers  now  and 
then.  And  the  pirates  whom  we  dignify  by  the 
name  of  bankers,  and  who  take  a  license  at  three 
thousand  francs  as  a  privateer  takes  his  letters  of 
marque,  have  such  veneration  for  those  rare  products 
of  the  incubation  of  virtue,  that  they  shut  them  up 
in  cages  in  order  to  keep  them  safe,  as  governments 
keep  curious  animals.  If  the  cashier  has  imagina- 
tion, if  the  cashier  has  passions,  or  if  the  most  perfect 
of  cashiers  loves  his  wife  and  that  wife  is  bored,  or 
ambitious,  or  simply  vain,  the  cashier  goes  to  pieces. 
Search  the  annals  of  the  counting-room:  you  will 
not  find  a  single  instance  of  the  cashier  attaining  what 
is  called  a  position.  They  go  to  the  galleys,  they  go 
abroad,  or  they  vegetate  in  a  second-floor  apartment 
on  Rue  Saint-Louis  in  the  Marais.  When  Parisian 
cashiers  have  reflected  seriously  upon  their  intrinsic 
value,  a  cashier  will  be  beyond  price.  It  is  certain 
that  certain  men  can  never  be  aught  else  than  cash- 
iers, just  as  others  are  incorrigible  rogues.  Strange 
civilization!  Society  awards  virtue  an  annuity  of  a 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  37 

hundred  louis  for  its  old  age,  lodgings  on  the  second 
floor,  plenty  of  bread,  a  new  cravat  or  two,  and  an 
old  wife  encumbered  by  her  children.  As  for  vice, 
if  it  has  a  little  insolence,  if  it  can  circumvent  an 
article  of  the  Code  as  cleverly  as  Turenne  circum- 
vented Montecuculli,  society  legalizes  its  stolen  mil- 
lions, bestows  decorations  upon  it,  stuffs  it  with 
honors,  and  overwhelms  it  with  tokens  of  high  con- 
sideration. Moreover,  the  government  is  in  har- 
mony with  this  profoundly  illogical  society.  The 
government  levies  upon  youthful  intellects,  between 
eighteen  years  and  twenty,  a  conscription  of  pre- 
cocious talents;  it  exhausts  by  premature  toil  the 
powerful  brains  which  it  convokes  in  order  to  sort 
them  out  on  a  board  as  gardeners  do  their  seeds.  It 
provides  for  that  process  sworn  weighers  of  talents 
who  test  brains  as  gold  is  tested  at  the  mint.  Then 
out  of  the  five  hundred  heads  excited  by  hope,  with 
which  the  most  enlightened  portion  of  the  population 
annually  provides  it,  it  selects  one-third,  stows  them 
away  in  great  bags  called  its  Schools,  and  shakes 
them  about  therefor  three  years.  Although  each  of 
those  grafts  represents  an  enormous  capital,  it  makes 
cashiers  of  them,  so  to  speak;  it  appoints  them  en- 
gineers in  ordinary;  it  employs  them  as  captains  of 
artillery;  in  a  word,  it  assures  them  all  the  highest 
places  in  the  subordinate  grades.  Then,  when  those 
picked  men,  fattened  on  mathematics  and  stuffed 
with  science,  have  reached  the  age  of  fifty  years,  it 
provides  them,  by  way  of  reward  for  their  services, 
with  the  third-floor  apartment,  the  wife  burdened 


38  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

with  children  and  all  the  joys  of  mediocrity.  If,  of 
that  deluded  multitude,  five  or  six  men  of  genius 
escape  and  climb  to  the  social  summits,  is  it  not  a 
miracle? 

The  foregoing  is  an  accurate  balance-sheet  of  the 
account  between  talent  and  virtue  on  the  one  side 
and  the  government  and  society  on  the  other,  in  an 
age  which  deems  itself  progressive.  Without  these 
preliminary  observations,  an  episode  of  recent  oc- 
currence in  Paris  would  seem  improbable,  whereas, 
in  the  light  of  this  summary,  it  may,  perhaps,  at- 
tract the  attention  of  minds  of  sufficient  acumen  to 
have  divined  the  real  plague-spots  of  our  civilization 
which,  since  1815,  has  replaced  honor  as  a  principle 
of  action  by  wealth. 

On  a  gloomy  autumn  day,  about  five  in  the  after- 
noon, the  cashier  of  one  of  the  strongest  banking- 
houses  in  Paris  was  still  at  work  by  the  light  of  a 
lamp  which  had  already  been  lighted  for  some  time. 
In  accordance  with  the  usages  and  customs  of  the 
commercial  world,  the  counting-room  was  situated  in 
the  darkest  part  of  a  narrow,  low  entresol.  To  reach 
it  one  must  pass  through  a  corridor  lighted  by  inside 
windows  and  extending  the  length  of  the  various  offices 
whose  ticketed  doors  resembled  those  of  a  bathing  es- 
tablishment. At  four  o'clock,  the  concierge  had  phleg- 
matically  announced,  according  to  his  orders:  "  The 
counting-room  is  closed."  At  this  time,  the  offices 
were  deserted,  the  mail  despatched,  the  clerks  had 
gone  home,  the  wives  of  the  partners  were  awaiting 
their  lovers,  the  two  bankers  were  dining  with  their 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  39 

mistresses.  Everything  was  in  order.  The  place 
where  the  strong-boxes  were  kept  in  an  iron  safe 
was  behind  the  grated  box  of  the  cashier,  who  was 
engaged,  no  doubt,  in  balancing  his  cash.  The  open 
wicket  permitted  one  to  see  a  closet  of  hammered 
iron,  which,  thanks  to  the  discoveries  of  modern 
locksmithing,  was  so  heavy  that  burglars  could  not 
have  carried  it  away.  The  door  opened  only  at  the 
bidding  of  the  person  who  could  write  the  password, 
the  secret  of  which  is  faithfully  kept  by  the  letters 
of  the  lock  beyond  the  reach  of  corruption,  a  beau- 
tiful realization  of  the  Open,  Sesame!  of  the  Thou- 
sand and  One  Nights.  But  that  was  not  all.  The 
lock  would  strike  a  crushing  blow  at  the  face  of  the 
man  who,  having  discovered  the  password,  was  un- 
acquainted with  the  last  secret,  the  ultima  ratio  of 
the  dragon  of  the  mechanism.  The  door  of  the  room, 
the  walls  of  the  room,  the  shutters  at  the  windows 
of  the  room,  the  whole  room,  in  short,  was  sheathed 
with  sheet-iron  plates  a  third  of  an  inch  thick,  dis- 
guised by  a  thin  veneer  of  wainscoting.  The  shut- 
ters were  closed,  the  door  was  closed.  If  ever  a 
man  might  believe  that  he  was  absolutely  alone  and 
sheltered  from  all  eyes,  that  man  was  the  cashier  of 
the  house  of  Nucingen  and  Company,  Rue  Saint- 
Lazare.  The  most  profound  silence  reigned  in  that 
iron  cave.  The  dying  fire  in  the  stove  gave  forth  the 
sickening  warmth  which  produces  upon  the  brain 
the  clammy  sensation  and  queasy  uneasiness  pecul- 
iar to  the  day  after  a  debauch.  The  stove  tends 
to  produce  sleep,  it  stupefies  and  helps  materially  to 


4O  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

banish  the  wits  of  concierges  and  clerks.  A  room 
with  a  stove  is  a  mattress  in  which  man's  energy 
disappears,  his  nerves  relax,  and  his  will  becomes 
null.  The  department  offices  are  the  great  nursery 
of  the  mediocrities  which  governments  require  for 
the  maintenance  of  the  feudal  authority  of  money, 
upon  which  the  present  social  fabric  rests. — See 
The  Civil  Service. — The  mephitic  heat  produced  by 
the  herding  of  men  together  in  those  offices  is  not  one 
of  the  least  important  causes  of  the  progressive  degen- 
eration of  intellects;  the  brain  from  which  the  most 
nitrogen  is  set  free  asphyxiates  the  others  in  the  end. 
The  cashier  was  a  man  of  about  forty  years, 
whose  bald  head  gleamed  in  the  rays  of  the  Carcel 
lamp  that  stood  on  his  table.  The  light  shone  upon 
the  white  hairs  interspersed  with  black  that  formed 
a  fringe  around  his  head,  to  which  the  rounded  out- 
lines of  his  face  gave  the  appearance  of  a  ball.  His 
complexion  was  brick  red.  His  blue  eyes  were  sur- 
rounded by  wrinkles.  He  had  the  plump  hand  of 
the  corpulent  man.  His  blue  coat,  slightly  worn  in 
places,  and  the  folds  of  his  shiny  trousers  offered  to 
the  eye  that  appearance  of  decay  which  long  use 
imparts,  against  which  the  brush  struggles  in  vain, 
and  which  gives  superficial  persons  an  exalted  idea 
of  the  economical  habits  and  unswerving  probity  of 
a  man  who  is  enough  of  a  philosopher  or  enough 
of  an  aristocrat  to  wear  old  clothes.  But  it  is  no 
rare  thing  to  find  people  who  will  haggle  over  trifles, 
easily  imposed  upon,  extravagant  or  incapable  in 
the  momentous  affairs  of  life. 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  41 

The  cashier's  buttonhole  was  adorned  with  the 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  for  he  had  commanded 
a  company  in  the  dragoons,  under  the  Emperor.  Mon- 
sieur de  Nucingen,  who  was  an  army  contractor 
before  becoming  a  banker,  had  been  so  situated  as 
to  discover  his  future  cashier's  delicacy  of  feeling, 
having  met  him  in  an  exalted  position  from  which 
misfortune  had  dislodged  him;  and  he  testified  his 
regard  by  paying  him  a  salary  of  five  hundred  francs 
per  month.  This  soldier  had  been  a  cashier  since 
1813,  when  he  was  cured  of  a  wound  received  at  the 
battle  of  Studzianka,  during  the  retreat  from  Moscow, 
after  he  had  languished  six  months  at  Strasburg, 
whither  a  number  of  the  officers  of  higher  rank  had 
been  carried,  by  order  of  the  Emperor,  to  receive 
special  attention.  The  ex-dragoon,  Castanier  by 
name,  had  the  brevet  rank  of  colonel  and  a  retiring 
pension  of  twenty-four  hundred  francs. 

Castanier,  in  whom  the  cashier  had  in  ten  years 
vanquished  the  military  man,  possessed  the  banker's 
confidence  to  such  an  extent  that  he  also  superin- 
tended the  clerks  in  the  private  office  behind  his 
counting-room,  to  which  the  baron  came  down  from 
his  apartments  by  a  secret  staircase.  There  im- 
portant affairs  were  decided;  there  was  the  sieve 
in  which  propositions  were  sifted,  the  parlor  in 
which  the  plans  were  scrutinized;  thence  letters  of 
credit  issued;  lastly,  there  were  the  ledger  and  the 
journal  wherein  the  work  of  the  other  offices  was 
summarized.  After  closing  the  door  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase  leading  to  the  State  office,  where  the 


42  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

two  bankers  were  usually  to  be  found,  on  the  first 
floor  of  their  hotel,  Castanier  had  returned  to  his 
seat  and  had  glanced  for  a  moment  at  several  let- 
ters of  credit  drawn  on  the  house  of  Watschildine 
at  London.  Then  he  had  taken  his  pen  and  had 
forged,  at  the  bottom  of  each  of  them,  the  signa- 
ture Nudngen.  Just  as  he  was  examining  those 
false  signatures  to  see  which  of  them  all  was  the 
most  perfect  imitation,  he  raised  his  head  as  if  he 
had  been  stung  by  a  gnat,  obeying  a  presentiment 
which  cried  out  in  his  heart:  "  You  are  not  alone!" 
and  the  forger  saw  behind  the  grating,  at  the  wicket 
of  his  counting-room,  a  man  whose  breathing  was 
inaudible,  who  seemed  to  him  not  to  breathe  at  all. 
He  had  evidently  entered  by  the  door  leading  into 
the  corridor,  which  Castanier  saw  was  wide  open. 
The  ex-soldier  experienced  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  a  sensation  of  fear  which  made  him  sit  with 
gaping  mouth  and  bewildered  eyes,  staring  at  the 
intruder,  whose  appearance  was,  in  truth,  horrify- 
ing enough  to  stand  in  no  need  of  the  mysterious 
circumstances  attending  his  entrance.  The  oblong 
shape  of  the  stranger's  face,  the  bulging  outline  of 
his  forehead,  the  acid  tinge  of  his  complexion,  indi- 
cated an  Englishman,  no  less  than  the  cut  of  his 
clothes.  The  man  fairly  smelt  of  the  Englishman. 
Seeing  his  tightly-buttoned  coat,  his  flowing  cravat 
colliding  with  a  rumpled  shirt-frill,  its  whiteness  in- 
tensifying the  fixed,  livid  hue  of  an  impassive  face, 
whose  cold,  red  lips  seemed  made  to  suck  the  blood 
from  dead  bodies,  one  could  imagine  the  black  gaiters 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  43 

buttoned  above  the  knee,  and  the  rest  of  the  semi- 
Puritan  costume  of  a  wealthy  Englishman  out  for  a 
walk.  The  flash  emitted  by  the  stranger's  eyes 
was  insupportable  and  caused  a  painful  impression 
which  was  heightened  by  the  rigidity  of  his  features. 
Thin  and  gaunt,  the  man  seemed  to  have  within  him 
a  devouring  principle  which  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  satisfy.  He  must  have  digested  his  food  so  rapidly 
that  he  could  eat  incessantly,  without  causing  the 
slightest  trace  of  a  flush  ever  to  appear  on  his 
cheeks.  He  could  swallow  a  cask  of  the  Tokay 
wine  known  as  vin  de  succession,  and  his  piercing 
glance,  which  read  men's  minds,  would  not  waver 
for  an  instant,  nor  his  pitiless  logic,  which  seemed 
always  to  go  to  the  very  root  of  things.  There  was 
in  him  something  of  the  fierce  and  tranquil  majesty 
of  the  tiger. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  just  received  this  bill  of  ex- 
change," he  said  to  Castanier,  in  a  voice  which  put 
itself  in  communication  with  the  cashier's  nerves 
and  assailed  them  all  with  a  violence  comparable  to 
that  of  an  electric  discharge. 

"  The  counting-room  is  closed,"  replied  Castanier. 

"  It  is  open,"  said  the  Englishman,  pointing  to  the 
safe.  "  To-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  and  I  cannot 
wait.  The  amount  is  five  hundred  thousand  francs, 
you  have  it  in  the  safe,  and  I  owe  it." 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  get  in?" 

The  Englishman  smiled,  and  his  smile  terrified 
Castanier.  Never  was  a  fuller  or  more  peremptory 
response  than  the  imperious,  disdainful  curl  of  the 


44  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

stranger's  lip.  Castanier  turned,  seized  fifty  pack- 
ages of  bank-notes  each  containing  ten  thousand 
francs,  and,  as  he  passed  them  to  the  stranger  who 
had  tossed  him  a  bill  of  exchange  signed  by  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  he  was  attacked  by  a  sort  of  convul- 
sive trembling,  at  sight  of  the  red  gleam  that  issued 
from  that  man's  eyes  and  shone  upon  the  forged 
signature  of  the  letter  of  credit. 

"You — haven't — signed — a  receipt,"  stammered 
Castanier,  returning  the  bill. 

"  Pass  me  your  pen,"  replied  the  Englishman. 

Castanier  handed  him  the  pen  he  had  used  for  his 
forgeries.  The  stranger  signed  JOHN  MELMOTH, 
then  returned  the  pen  and  paper  to  the  cashier. 
While  Castanier  was  looking  at  the  stranger's  writ- 
ing, which  ran  from  right  to  left  in  the  oriental 
fashion,  Melmoth  disappeared,  and  made  so  little 
noise  that,  when  the  cashier  raised  his  head  and  saw 
that  he  was  no  longer  there,  he  uttered  a  sharp  cry, 
conscious  of  a  pang  like  those  which  our  imagination 
attributes  to  the  effects  produced  by  poison.  The 
pen  Melmoth  had  used  caused  a  burning,  disturbing 
sensation  in  his  vitals,  like  that  produced  by  an 
emetic.  As  it  seemed  impossible  to  Castanier  that 
the  Englishman  had  divined  his  crime,  he  attributed 
that  internal  suffering  to  the  palpitation  which,  ac- 
cording to  received  ideas,  follows  a  mauvais  coup  the 
moment  after  it  is  committed. 

"  Damnation!  what  a  fool  I  am!  God  help  me, 
for  if  that  animal  had  applied  to  these  gentlemen 
to-morrow,  my  goose  would  have  been  cooked  !"  said 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  45 

Castanier  to  himself,  as  he  threw  the  forged  letters 
he  did  not  propose  to  use  into  the  stove,  where  they 
were  consumed. 

He  placed  a  seal  on  the  one  he  had  selected  for 
use,  took  from  the  safe  five  hundred  thousand  francs 
in  bills  and  bank-notes,  locked  it,  put  everything  in 
order,  took  his  hat  and  umbrella,  extinguished  the 
lamp  after  lighting  his  candlestick,  and  went  tran- 
quilly, according  to  his  custom  when  the  baron  was 
absent,  to  hand  one  of  the  two  keys  of  the  safe  to 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"You  are  very  fortunate,  Monsieur  Castanier," 
said  the  banker's  wife,  when  he  entered  her  apart- 
ments, "  we  have  a  holiday  on  Monday;  you  can  go 
into  the  country,  to  Soizy." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough,  madame,  to  say  to 
Nucingen  that  the  bill  of  exchange  from  Watschil- 
dine,  which  was  delayed,  has  been  presented.  The 
five  hundred  thousand  francs  are  paid.  So  I  shall 
not  return  until  Tuesday,  about  noon." 

"Adieu,  monsieur;  a  pleasant  time  to  you." 

"  The  same  to  you,  madame,"  replied  the  old 
dragoon  as  he  went  out,  glancing,  as  he  spoke,  at  a 
young  man  then  much  in  vogue,  named  Rastignac, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  Madame  de  Nucingen's 
lover. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  young  man,  "that  stout  old 
party  looks  to  me  as  if  he  proposed  to  play  some 
trick  on  you." 

"  Nonsense!  it's  impossible,  he's  too  big  a  fool." 

"  Piquoizeau,"  said  the  cashier,  going  into  the 


46  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

porter's  lodge,  "  why  do  you  let  anybody  come  up 
to  the  counting-room  after  four  o'clock?" 

"Ever  since  four  o'clock,"  said  the  concierge, 
"  I've  been  smoking  my  pipe  on  the  doorstep,  and 
not  a  soul  has  gone  into  the  offices.  No  one  has 
even  left  but  these  gentlemen — " 

"Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say?" 

"  Sure  as  I  am  of  my  own  honor.  Just  about  four, 
Monsieur  Werbrust's  friend  came,  a  young  man  from 
Messieurs  Du  Tillet  and  Company,  Rue  Joubert." 

"All  right!"  said  Castanier,  hastily  leaving  the 
lodge. 

The  nauseating  heat  which  his  pen  had  communi- 
cated to  him  assumed  greater  intensity. 

"  Ten  thousand  devils!"  he  thought,  as  he  hurried 
along  Boulevard  de  Gand,  "  have  I  made  my  arrange- 
ments wisely?  Let  us  see!  Two  days  to  myself, 
Sunday  and  Monday,  then  a  day  of  uncertainty  be- 
fore they  begin  to  look  for  me — that  gives  me  three 
days  and  four  nights.  I  have  two  passports  and  two 
distinct  disguises;  isn't  that  enough  to  throw  the 
cleverest  detectives  off  the  scent?  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, I  will  pick  up  a  million  in  London,  before  they 
have  begun  to  have  a  suspicion  of  me  here.  I  leave 
my  debts  for  the  benefit  of  my  creditors,  who  will 
put  a  P.  over  them,  and  for  the  rest  of  my  days  I  will 
live  happily  in  Italy,  under  the  name  of  Comte  Fer- 
raro,  that  poor  colonel  whom  I  alone  was  with  when 
he  died  in  the  swamps  of  Zembin,  and  whose  skin  I 
will  put  on. — Ten  thousand  devils!  this  woman  that 
I  am  going  to  take  with  me  may  lead  to  my  being 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  47 

recognized.  An  old  campaigner  like  me  tied  to  a 
petticoat,  bewitched  by  a  woman!  why  should  I  take 
her? — I  must  leave  her.  Yes,  I  shall  have  the  cour- 
age to  do  it.  But  I  know  myself,  I  shall  be  just  fool 
enough  to  come  back  to  her.  However,  no  one 
knows  Aquilina.  Shall  I  take  her?  or  shall  I  not 
take  her?" 

"  You  will  not  take  her!"  said  a  voice  that  stirred 
his  entrails. 

Castanier  turned  abruptly  and  saw  the  English- 
man. 

"  So  the  devil  is  taking  a  hand  in  it!"  exclaimed 
the  cashier  aloud. 

Melmoth  had  already  passed  his  victim.  Although 
Castanier's  first  impulse  was  to  fasten  a  quarrel 
upon  a  man  who  could  read  his  thoughts  so  readily, 
he  was  tossed  about  by  so  many  contrary  sentiments 
that  the  result  was  a  sort  of  temporary  inertness;  so 
he  walked  on  as  before,  and  relapsed  into  the  fever 
of  thought  natural  to  a  man  excited  by  passion  to 
the  point  of  committing  a  crime,  but  lacking  the 
strength  to  carry  its  burden  without  the  most  cruel 
agitation.  And  so,  although  determined  to  gather 
the  fruit  of  a  crime  half  consummated,  Castanier 
still  hesitated  to  carry  out  his  undertaking,  like  most 
men  of  mixed  character  in  whom  there  is  as  much 
strength  as  weakness,  and  who  may  resolve  to  re- 
main pure  as  well  as  to  become  criminal,  according 
to  the  effect  of  the  most  trivial  circumstances.  In 
the  motley  collection  of  men  enlisted  by  Napoleon 
there  were  many  who,  like  Castanier,  possessed  the 


48  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

purely  physical  courage  of  the  battle-field,  but  lacked 
the  moral  courage  which  makes  a  man  as  great  in 
crime  as  he  might  be  in  virtue.  The  letter  of  credit 
was  so  worded,  that  on  his  arrival  in  London  he 
could  draw  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  sterling 
from  Watschildine,  the  correspondent  of  the  house 
of  Nucingen,  who  was  already  advised  by  himself  of 
its  speedy  presentation.  His  passage  was  engaged 
by  an  agent  whom  he  had  selected  at  random  in 
London,  under  the  name  of  Comte  Ferraro,  on  a 
vessel  which  was  to  take  a  rich  English  family  from 
Portsmouth  to  Italy.  Every  contingency,  however 
trifling,  had  been  provided  for.  He  had  laid  his  plans 
so  that  they  would  look  for  him  in  Belgium  and  in 
Switzerland  while  he  was  at  sea.  Then,  when 
Nucingen  might  believe  that  he  was  fairly  on  his 
track,  he  hoped  to  have  reached  Naples,  where  he 
intended  to  live  under  a  false  name,  by  favor  of  a 
disguise  so  complete  that  he  had  determined  to 
change  his  whole  face  by  imitating  the  ravages  of 
small-pox  with  the  aid  of  an  acid. 

Despite  all  those  precautions,  which  seemed  cer- 
tain to  assure  him  impunity,  his  conscience  tormented 
him:  he  was  afraid.  The  quiet,  peaceful  life  he  had 
led  so  long  had  purified  his  military  morals.  He  was 
still  upright,  he  did  not  soil  his  hands  without  regret. 
So  he  listened  for  the  last  time  to  the  arguments  of 
the  honest  nature  which  was  struggling  within  him. 

"Bah!"  he  said  to  himself  at  the  corner  of  the 
boulevard  and  Rue  Montmartre,  "  a  cab  will  take  me 
to  Versailles  to-night  after  the  play.  A  post-chaise 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  49 

awaits  me  there  at  my  old  quartermaster's,  who 
would  keep  my  secret  in  the  face  of  a  dozen  soldiers 
all  ready  to  shoot  him  if  he  refused  to  answer.  So 
I  can't  see  that  there's  one  chance  against  me.  I 
will  take  my  little  Naqui  and  go!" 

"You  will  not  go!"  said  the  Englishman,  whose 
peculiar  voice  sent  all  the  cashier's  blood  rushing  to 
his  heart. 

Melmoth  entered  a  tilbury  that  was  waiting  for 
him,  and  was  driven  away  so  swiftly,  that  Castanier 
saw  his  mysterious  enemy  a  hundred  yards  away, 
driving  up  Boulevard  Montmartre,  at  a  fast  trot, 
before  it  even  occurred  to  him  to  stop  him. 

"Upon  my  word,  this  is  supernatural!"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  If  I  were  idiotic  enough  to  believe  in 
God,  I  should  think  he  had  put  Saint-Michel  on  my 
heels.  Would  the  devil  and  the  police  give  me  a 
chance  to  get  hold  of  him  in  time?  Did  anyone 
ever  see  such  a  thing!  Nonsense!  this  is  all  folly." 

Castanier  turned  into  Rue  du  Faubourg-Mont- 
martre,  and  slackened  his  pace  as  he  neared  Rue 
Richer.  On  that  street,  in  a  new  house,  on  the 
second  floor  of  an  ell  overlooking  a  garden,  lived  a 
girl  known  in  the  quarter  by  the  name  of  Madame 
de  la  Garde,  who  was  the  innocent  cause  of  the 
crime  committed  by  Castanier.  To  explain  that 
fact  and  to  complete  the  history  of  the  crisis  under 
which  the  cashier  succumbed,  it  is  necessary  to  re- 
late succinctly  some  previous  episodes  in  her  life. 

Madame  de  la  Garde,  who  concealed  her  real 
name  from  everybody,  Castanier  included,  claimed 
4 


50  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

to  be  a  Piedmontese.  She  was  one  of  those  young 
women  who,  it  may  be  by  extreme  destitution,  by 
lack  of  work  or  by  dread  of  death,  frequently,  too, 
by  the  treachery  of  a  first  lover,  are  driven  to  adopt 
a  trade  which  the  majority  of  them  practise  with 
loathing,  many  with  indifference,  and  some  in  obe- 
dience to  the  laws  of  their  nature.  Just  as  she  was 
on  the  point  of  hurling  herself  into  the  abyss  of 
Parisian  prostitution,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  the  girl 
in  question,  lovely  and  pure  as  a  Madonna,  fell  in 
with  Castanier.  The  ex-dragoon,  being  too  un- 
polished to  succeed  in  society  and  tired  of  parading 
the  boulevards  every  evening  in  search  of  amours 
to  be  bought,  had  long  wished  to  reduce  his  irregu- 
lar morals  to  something  like  order.  Struck  by  the 
beauty  of  the  poor  child  whom  chance  threw  into 
his  arms,  he  determined  to  rescue  her  from  vice  for 
his  own  advantage,  obeying  a  thought  no  less  selfish 
than  beneficent,  as  are  many  of  the  thoughts  of  the 
best  of  men.  The  natural  impulse  is  often  good, 
society  mingles  its  bad  with  it,  the  result  being  cer- 
tain mixed  impulses  which  the  judge  should  treat 
with  indulgence.  Castanier  had  just  enough  wit  to 
be  cunning  when  his  selfish  interests  were  at  stake. 
He  determined  to  establish  his  philanthropy  on  a 
sure  footing,  so  first  of  all  he  made  the  girl  his  mis- 
tress. 

"Aha!"  he  said  to  himself  in  his  military  jargon, 
"an  old  wolf  like  me  mustn't  allow  himself  to  be 
cooked  by  a  lamb.  Before  you  go  to  housekeeping, 
Papa  Castanier,  just  reconnoitre  the  girl's  moral 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  51 

character  a  bit  and  find  out-  if  she's  capable  of  at- 
tachment." 

During  the  first  year  of  that  union,  which,  al- 
though illicit,  placed  her  in  the  least  reprehensible 
of  all  the  positions  which  society  censures,  the 
Piedmontese  adopted  for  a  nom  de  guerre  Aquilina, 
the  name  of  one  of  the  characters  in  Venice  Pre- 
served, an  English  tragedy  which  she  had  read  by 
chance.  She  fancied  that  she  resembled  that  cour- 
tesan, it  may  be  in  the  precocious  sentiments  that 
she  felt  in  her  heart,  or  in  her  face,  or  in  the  general 
effect  of  her  person.  When  Castanier  saw  that  she 
was  leading  the  most  orderly  and  most  virtuous  life 
possible  for  a  woman  whose  lot  is  cast  outside  of 
social  laws  and  proprieties,  he  manifested  a  wish  to 
live  with  her  as  her  husband.  She  thereupon  be- 
came Madame  de  la  Garde,  in  order  to  enjoy  the 
conditions  attending  a  lawful  marriage,  so  far  as 
Parisian  customs  permit.  In  truth,  the  fixed  idea 
of  many  of  those  poor  girls  consists  in  a  longing  to 
be  received  as  honest  bourgeoises,  foolishly  faithful 
to  their  husbands;  capable  of  becoming  excellent 
mothers  of  families,  of  keeping  their  accounts  and 
mending  the  household  linen.  That  longing  is  born 
of  such  a  praiseworthy  sentiment  that  society 
should  take  it  into  consideration.  But  society  will 
certainly  be  incorrigible,  and  will  continue  to  look 
upon  the  married  woman  as  a  corvette  whose  flag 
and  papers  entitle  her  to  go  her  way,  while  the  kept 
woman  is  the  pirate  who  is  captured  for  lack  of  the 
proper  papers.  On  the  day  when  Madame  de  la 


52  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

Garde  expressed  a  wish  to  sign  her  name  "  Madame 
Castanier,"  the  cashier  lost  his  temper. 

"  Then  you  don't  love  me  well  enough  to  marry 
me?"  she  said. 

Castanier  did  not  reply,  but  seemed  absorbed  in 
thought.  The  poor  girl  bowed  to  the  inevitable. 
The  ex-dragoon  was  in  despair.  Naqui  was  touched 
by  his  despair,  she  would  have  liked  to  allay  it;  but, 
in  order  to  allay  despair,  one  must  know  its  cause. 
On  the  day  when  Naqui  attempted  to  learn  that 
secret, — without  asking  questions,  by  the  way, — 
the  cashier  piteously  divulged  the  existence  of  a 
certain  Madame  Castanier,  a  legitimate  spouse,  a 
thousand  times  accursed,  who  lived  in  obscurity  at 
Strasburg,  on  a  small  property,  and  to  whom  he 
wrote  twice  a  year,  maintaining  such  absolute 
secrecy  concerning  her  that  no  one  knew  that  he 
was  married.  Why  that  reticence?  Although  the 
explanation  is  known  to  many  military  men  who 
may  have  found  themselves  in  the  same  plight, 
perhaps  it  will  be  well  to  give  it.  The  genuine 
troupier, — if  we  may  be  allowed  to  employ  the  word 
used  in  the  army  to  denote  soldiers  who  are  destined 
to  die  captains, — that  serf  attached  to  the  freehold 
of  a  regiment,  is  a  creature  essentially  ingenuous,  a 
Castanier  sacrificed  in  advance  to  the  trickery  of 
mothers  in  garrison  towns,  who  are  burdened  with 
daughters  hard  to  marry.  So  it  was,  that,  at  Nancy, 
during  one  of  those  brief  periods  when  the  imperial 
armies  tarried  in  France,  Castanier  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  attract  the  attention  of  a  young  woman  with 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  53 

whom  he  had  danced  at  one  of  those  functions  called 
in  the  provinces  redoutes,  which  are  frequently  prof- 
fered by  the  officers  of  the  garrison  to  the  town,  and 
•vice  versa.  The  good-natured  captain  at  once  became 
the  object  of  one  of  those  campaigns  of  seduction  for 
which  mothers  find  confederates  in  the  human  heart, 
by  working  upon  all  its  sensibilities,  and  among  their 
friends,  who  conspire  with  them.  Like  people  of 
but  one  idea,  such  mothers  make  everything  sub- 
ordinate to  their  great  scheme,  which  becomes  an 
elaborately  constructed  work  like  the  shell  of  sand  in 
which  the  ant-eater  lies  in  wait.  Perhaps  no  one 
will  ever  enter  that  carefully-constructed  labyrinth, 
perhaps  the  ant-eater  will  die  of  hunger  and  thirst. 
But  if  any  hare-brained  creature  does  enter,  he  will 
remain.  The  secret  calculations  of  avarice  which 
every  man  makes  when  he  marries,  hope,  human 
vanity,  all  the  wires  by  which  a  captain  is  moved, 
were  attacked  in  Castanier.  To  his  undoing  he  had 
praised  the  daughter  to  the  mother  on  bringing  her 
back  after  a  waltz;  then  they  had  a  little  chat,  which 
was  followed  by  a  most  natural  invitation  to  call. 
Once  he  was  enticed  to  the  house,  the  dragoon  was 
dazzled  by  the  amiability  of  a  family  in  which  wealth 
seemed  to  be  concealed  beneath  affected  niggardli- 
ness. He  was  made  the  object  of  adroit  flattery,  and 
everyone  praised  the  various  treasures  that  were 
to  be  found  in  that  house.  A  dinner,  served  on 
silver  plate  conveniently  lent  by  an  uncle,  the  at- 
tentions of  an  only  daughter,  the  gossip  of  the  town, 
a  rich  sub-lieutenant  who  pretended  to  be  trying  to 


54  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

cut  the  grass  from  under  his  feet — in  short,  the 
thousand  and  one  snares  of  provincial  ant-eaters 
were  so  cunningly  laid  that  Castanier  said  to  himself 
five  years  later: 

"  I  don't  know  yet  how  it  was  done!" 
The  dragoon  received  a  dowry  of  fifteen  thousand 
francs  and  a  young  lady,  luckily  barren,  whom  two 
years  of  married  life  transformed  into  the  ugliest  and 
consequently  the  most  ill-natured  woman  on  earth. 
Her  complexion,  kept  white  by  a  strict  diet,  became 
pimply;  her  face,  whose  vivid  coloring  indicated  the 
most  seductive  virtue,  was  covered  with  blotches; 
her  figure,  which  seemed  straight,  had  a  twist  in  it; 
the  angel  was  a  morose,  suspicious  creature  who 
drove  Castanier  mad;  then  the  fortune  took  wings. 
The  dragoon,  no  longer  recognizing  the  woman  he 
had  married,  consigned  her  to  a  small  estate  at 
Strasburg,  pending  the  time  when  it  should  please 
God  to  embellish  paradise  with  her.  She  was  one 
of  those  virtuous  wives  who,  for  lack  of  opportunity 
to  do  anything  else,  drive  the  angels  to  despair  with 
their  lamentations,  pray  to  God  in  a  way  to  weary 
Him  if  He  listens,  and  in  the  evening,  while  playing 
boston  with  their  neighbors,  demurely  tell  stories 
about  their  husbands  that  are  worse  than  hanging- 
matter. 

When  Aquilina  was  informed  of  Castanier's  mis- 
fortunes, she  became  sincerely  attached  to  him,  and 
made  him  so  happy  by  the  enjoyments  she  procured 
for  him,  her  woman's  genius  enabling  her  to  vary 
them  constantly,  while  lavishing  them  upon  him 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  55 

without  stint,  that  she  unwittingly  caused  the 
cashier's  ruin.  Like  many  women  whose  destiny 
seems  to  decree  that  they  shall  go  down  to  the  very 
deepest  depths  of  love,  Madame  de  la  Garde  was 
disinterested.  She  asked  for  neither  gold  nor  jewels, 
she  never  thought  of  the  future,  lived  in  the  present 
and  especially  in  pleasure.  The  rich  ornaments,  the 
dresses,  the  carriages,  so  ardently  craved  by  women 
of  her  sort,  she  accepted  only  as  one  more  harmo- 
nious feature  in  the  tableau  of  life.  She  did  not 
want  them  from  vanity  or  for  show,  but  in  order  to 
be  more  comfortable.  And  no  one  could  do  without 
things  of  that  sort  more  easily  than  she.  When  a 
generous  man,  as  almost  all  soldiers  are,  falls  in 
with  a  woman  of  that  temper,  he  feels  a  sort  of 
rage  in  his  heart  when  he  finds  himself  unable  to  do 
his  share  in  the  mutual  exchange  of  life.  He  feels 
that  he  is  capable  of  stopping  a  diligence  in  order  to 
obtain  money,  if  he  has  not  enough  for  his  lavish 
expenditures.  Man  is  made  in  that  way.  He  some- 
times commits  a  crime  in  order  to  remain  a  grand 
and  noble  figure  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  or  of  a 
special  audience.  A  lover  resembles  a  gambler,  who 
would  consider  himself  dishonored  if  he  failed  to 
repay  what  he  borrows  from  the  waiter,  and  who 
commits  horrible  crimes,  despoils  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, robs  and  murders,  in  order  to  arrive  with  full 
pockets  and  with  his  honor  untarnished  in  the  eyes 
of  those  who  frequent  the  fatal  place.  So  it  was 
with  Castanier.  At  first,  he  installed  Aquilina  in  a 
modest  fourth-floor  apartment,  and  gave  her  only 


56  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

the  simplest  furniture.  But  when  he  discovered  the 
girl's  manifold  beauties  and  noble  qualities,  receiv- 
ing at  her  hands  pleasure  undreamed  of,  which  no 
words  can  describe,  he  fairly  doted  on  her  and  de- 
termined to  adorn  his  idol.  Aquilina's  dress  con- 
trasted so  comically  with  her  wretched  lodgings, 
that,  for  both  their  sakes,  it  was  necessary  to  make 
a  change.  That  change  swept  away  almost  all  of 
Castanier's  savings,  for  he  furnished  his  semi-con- 
jugal apartment  with  the  magnificence  peculiar  to 
the  kept  mistress.  A  pretty  woman  wants  nothing 
ugly  about  her.  The  one  thing  that  .distinguishes 
her  from  all  other  women  is  the  sentiment  of  homo- 
geneousness,  one  of  the  least  noticed  needs  of  our 
nature,  which  leads  old  maids  to  surround  them- 
selves with  none  but  old  things.  For  that  reason, 
therefore,  the  fair  Piedmontese  must  have  the  new- 
est, the  most  stylish  objects,  the  daintiest  wares 
that  the  shops  afforded,  fine  hangings,  silks  and 
jewels,  light  and  fragile  furniture,  lovely  porcelains. 
She  asked  for  nothing.  But,  when  she  was  called 
upon  to  choose,  when  Castanier  said  to  her:  "  Which 
do  you  like?"  she  would  say:  "Why,  that  is  the 
nicest!"  The  love  that  economizes  is  never  true 
love,  so  Castanier  took  the  best  that  there  was. 
When  the  scale  of  proportion  was  once  admitted, 
everything  in  the  household  must  necessarily  be  in 
harmony.  There  were  the  linen,  the  silverware, 
and  the  thousand  and  one  accessories  of  a  well- 
ordered  establishment,  the  kitchen  outfit,  the  glass, 
the  devil !  Although  Castanier  intended,  to  use  a 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  57 

familiar  expression,  to  do  things  simply,  his  debts 
steadily  increased.  One  thing  necessitated  another. 
A  clock  required  two  candelabra.  The  carved  man- 
telpiece demanded  a  fireplace.  The  draperies  and 
hangings  were  too  fresh  and  new  to  allow  them  to 
be  blackened  by  the  smoke,  so  they  must  have 
some  of  the  fashionable  chimneys,  recently  invented 
by  gentlemen  skilful  in  the  art  of  composing  pros- 
pectuses, which  claimed  to  provide  an  invincible 
guaranty  against  smoke.  And  then  Aquilina  found 
it  so  pleasant  to  run  about  barefooted  on  her  cham- 
ber carpet,  that  Castanier  spread  carpets  every- 
where to  frolic  with  Naqui;  and,  lastly,  he  built  her 
a  bath-room,  always  for  her  greater  comfort.  The 
shopkeepers,  the  workmen,  the  manufacturers  of 
Paris  have  a  most  extraordinary  talent  for  increasing 
the  size  of  the  hole  a  man  makes  in  his  purse;  when 
you  consult  them,  they  never  know  the  price  of 
anything,  and  the  frenzy  of  desire  never  brooks 
delay;  thus  they  procure  orders  in  the  shadow  of  an 
approximate  estimate,  then  they  delay  sending  in 
their  bills,  and  lead  the  customer  on  into  the  vortex 
of  house-furnishing.  Everything  is  delightful,  fas- 
cinating, and  everyone  is  satisfied.  A  few  months 
later,  these  obliging  merchants  reappear,  metamor- 
phosed into  statements  of  account  of  distressing 
urgency;  they  have  a  pressing  need  of  money,  pay- 
ments to  be  made  at  once,  they  even  claim  to  be  on 
the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  they  weep  and  they  move 
you  to  pity!  Thereupon  the  crater  opens,  vomiting 
forth  a  column  of  figures  marching  by  fours,  when 


58  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

they  should  march  innocently  three  by  three.  Be- 
fore Castanier  knew  the  amount  of  his  expenditures, 
he  had  adopted  the  habit  of  providing  his  mistress 
with  a  coupe  whenever  she  went  out,  instead  of 
allowing  her  to  ride  in  a  cab.  Castanier  was  a 
gourmand,  he  had  an  excellent  cook;  and  Aquilina, 
to  give  him  pleasure,  regaled  him  with  early  vege- 
tables, gastronomic  rarities,  and  choice  wines  which 
she  purchased  herself.  But,  as  she  had  nothing  of 
her  own,  her  gifts,  although  they  were  of  priceless 
value  to  him  because  of  the  thoughtful  affection  and 
charming  delicacy  that  dictated  them,  were  a  con- 
stant drain  upon  Castanier 's  purse,  for  he  did  not 
choose  that  his  Naqui  should  be  without  money, 
and  she  always  was  without  money!  Thus  the  table 
was  a  source  of  large  expenditure,  relatively  to  the 
cashier's  income.  The  ex-dragoon  was  obliged  to 
resort  to  commercial  artifices  to  procure  money,  for 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  renounce  his  pleasures. 
His  love  for  the  woman  precluded  him  from  opposing 
the  whims  of  the  mistress.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  who,  whether  from  self-love  or  from  weakness, 
can  refuse  a  woman  nothing,  and  who  have  such  a 
powerful  feeling  of  false  shame  at  the  thought  of 
saying:  "  I  cannot — my  means  will  not  allow  me — I 
have  no  money,"  that  they  ruin  themselves.  So 
that,  when  the  day  came  that  Castanier  found  him- 
self on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  realized  that,  in 
order  to  save  himself,  he  must  leave  Aquilina  and 
betake  himself  to  a  bread-and-water  diet,  to  the 
end  that  he  might  pay  his  debts,  he  had  become  so 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  59 

accustomed  to  that  woman  and  that  life,  that  he 
postponed  his  plans  of  reform  every  morning.  First 
of  all,  under  the  stress  of  circumstances,  he  bor- 
rowed. His  position  and  his  antecedents  had  won 
for  him  a  reputation  for  trustworthiness  of  which 
he  took  advantage  to  lay  out  a  system  of  borrowing 
in  proportion  to  his  needs.  Then,  to  disguise  the 
amount  to  which  his  debts  rapidly  climbed,  he  had 
recourse  to  what  are  known  in  the  business  world 
as  circulations.  These  are  notes  which  represent 
no  actual  consideration  in  merchandise  or  money, 
and  which  the  first  endorser  pays  for  the  obliging 
maker — a  species  of  forgery,  tolerated  because  it  is 
impossible  to  prove,  and  because,  furthermore,  this 
ingenious  fraud  becomes  real  only  in  case  of  non- 
payment. Finally,  when  Castanier  saw  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  continue  his  financial  ma- 
noeuvres, both  because  of  the  rapid  increase  of  the 
capital  and  of  the  enormous  interest  he  had  to  pay, 
he  was  obliged  to  face  the  thought  of  insolvency. 
With  disgrace  staring  him  in  the  face,  Castanier 
preferred  fraudulent  insolvency  to  simple  insolvency, 
crime  to  misdemeanor.  He  determined  to  discount 
the  confidence  which  he  owed  to  his  previous  prob- 
ity, and  to  increase  the  number  of  his  creditors  by 
borrowing,  after  the  fashion  of  the  famous  cashier 
of  the  royal  Treasury,  a  sufficient  sum  to  enable 
him  to  live  happily  in  a  foreign  country  for  the 
balance  of  his  days.  And  he  had  taken  measures 
to  that  end,  as  we  have  seen.  Aquilina  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  wearisomeness  of  that  life,  she  simply 


60  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

enjoyed  it  as  many  women  do,  without  asking  where 
the  money  came  from,  any  more  than  certain  people 
ask  how  the  wheat  grows  when  they  eat  their  fine 
white  bread;  whereas  the  painstaking  care  and 
the  disappointments  of  the  farmer  stand  behind  the 
baker's  oven,  just  as  crushing  anxiety  and  the  most 
exacting  toil  lurk  unseen  beneath  the  exterior  splen- 
dor of  most  Parisian  households. 

At  the  moment  that  Castanier  was  undergoing  the 
tortures  of  uncertainty,  meditating  a  step  that  would 
change  his  whole  life,  Aquilina,  buried  in  a  capacious 
armchair  in  front  of  the  fire,  was  calmly  awaiting 
him,  in  the  company  of  her  maid.  Like  all  maids  in 
the  service  of  ladies  of  that  sort,  Jenny  had  become 
her  confidante,  after  she  had  discovered  how  unas- 
sailable was  the  empire  her  mistress  had  obtained 
over  Castanier. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  to-night?  Leon  ab- 
solutely insists  upon  coming,"  said  Madame  de  la 
Garde,  running  her  eyes  over  a  passionate  letter 
written  upon  paper  of  a  grayish  tinge. 

"  Here's  monsieur!"  said  Jenny. 

Castanier  entered.  Aquilina,  with  perfect  uncon- 
cern, crumpled  the  letter,  took  it  in  her  tongs  and 
burned  it. 

"So  that's  what  you  do  with  your  love-letters?" 
said  Castanier. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  replied  Aquilina;  "isn't 
that  the  best  way  to  make  sure  they're  not  found? 
And  then,  should  not  fire  go  to  fire,  as  water  goes  to 
the  river?" 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  6l 

"  You  say  that,  Naqui,  as  if  it  were  a  real  love- 
letter." 

"  Well,  am  I  not  lovely  enough  to  receive  them?" 
she  said,  offering  Castanier  her  forehead  with  a  sort 
of  negligent  air  that  would  have  told  a  man  less 
blinded  than  he  that  she  was  performing  a  conjugal 
duty,  so  to  speak,  in  giving  him  pleasure;  but  Cas- 
tanier had  reached  that  degree  of  passion,  due  to 
habit,  that  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  notice  any- 
thing. 

"  I  have  a  box  for  the  Gymnase  this  evening,"  he 
said;  "  let  us  dine  early  so  as  not  to  dine  post- 
haste." 

"Go  with  Jenny.  I  am  tired  of  the  theatre.  I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me  to-night,  but 
I  prefer  to  sit  by  the  fire." 

"Come  all  the  same,  Naqui;  1  haven't  long  to 
bore  you  with  my  attentions.  Yes,  Quiqui,  I  am 
going  away  to-night  and  shall  not  return  for  some 
time.  I  leave  you  mistress  of  everything  here. 
Will  you  keep  your  heart  for  me?" 

"  Neither  my  heart  nor  anything  else.  But,  when 
you  come  back,  Naqui  will  still  be  Naqui  to  you." 

"  That's  frank,  upon  my  word.  So  you  won't  go 
with  me?" 

"No." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Why,  can  I  leave  the  lover  who  writes  me  such 
sweet  notes  as  that?"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  point- 
ing with  a  half-mocking  gesture  to  the  charred 
paper. 


62  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

"Can  it  be  true?"  queried  Castanier.  "Have 
you  a  lover?" 

"What!"  rejoined  Aquilina,  "have  you  never 
considered  yourself  seriously,  my  dear?  In  the  first 
place,  you're  fifty  years  old  !  Then  you  have  a  face 
to  put  on  a  fruit-woman's  stand,  for  no  one  would 
ever  contradict  her  when  she  tried  to  sell  it  for  a 
pumpkin.  When  you  come  upstairs,  you  puff  like 
a  porpoise.  Your  paunch  quivers  like  a  diamond  on 
a  woman's  head  ! — No  matter  if  you  did  serve  in  the 
dragoons,  you're  a  very  ugly  old  fellow!  Gad !  I 
don't  advise  you,  if  you  want  to  retain  my  esteem, 
to  add  to  the  qualities  I  have  mentioned  the  absurd 
folly  of  thinking  that  such  a  girl  as  I  am  can  get 
along  without  tempering  your  asthmatic  love  with 
the  flowers  of  some  pretty  youth — " 

"  Of  course  you  are  joking,  Aquilina?" 

"  Well,  aren't  you  joking,  too?  Do  you  take  me 
for  a  fool  that  you  talk  about  going  away?  'I  am 
going  away  this  evening,' "  she  said,  mimicking 
him.  "  You  great  drone,  would  you  talk  like  that  if 
you  were  going  to  leave  your  Naqui?  You  would 
cry  like  the  calf  that  you  are!" 

"  But,  if  I  do  go,  will  you  go  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Tell  me  first  if  this  talk  about  a  journey  isn't  a 
poor  joke?" 

"  No;  seriously,  I  am  going  away." 

"Very  well,  then,  seriously,  I  will  stay  here.  A 
pleasant  journey,  my  boy!  I'll  wait  for  you.  I 
would  rather  leave  life  than  leave  my  dear  little 
Paris." 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  63 

"  You  won't  come  to  Italy,  to  Naples,  to  lead  a 
pleasant,  lazy,  luxurious  life,  with  your  old  man  who 
puffs  like  a  porpoise?" 

"No." 

"  Ingrate!" 

"Ingrate?"  she  said,  rising,  "I  can  leave  this 
house  instantly,  carrying  nothing  but  my  person.  I 
have  given  you  all  the  treasures  a  young  girl  pos- 
sesses, and  something  that  all  your  blood  and  mine 
cannot  give  back  to  me.  If  I  could,  by  any  means 
whatever,  by  selling  my  immortality,  for  instance, 
recover  the  purity  of  my  body  as  I  have,  perhaps, 
recovered  that  of  my  soul,  and  could  give  myself  to 
my  lover  as  pure  as  a  lily,  I  would  not  hesitate  one 
second !  With  what  devotion  have  you  rewarded 
mine?  You  have  fed  and  housed  me  from  the  same 
feeling  that  leads  one  to  feed  a  dog  and  give  him  a 
kennel  to  sleep  in,  because  he  keeps  good  watch  over 
us,  because  he  receives  our  kicks  when  we  are  in  a 
bad  humor,  and  licks  our  hand  as  soon  as  we  call  him 
back.  Which  of  us  two  has  been  the  more  generous?" 

"Oh!  my  dear  child,  don't  you  see  that  I  am 
joking,"  rejoined  Castanier.  "  I  am  going  on  a  little 
trip  that  won't  last  long.  But  you  must  come  to 
the  Gymnase  with  me;  I  shall  start  about  midnight, 
after  saying  adieu  to  you." 

"  My  poor  boy,  so  you  are  really  going  away?" 
she  said,  taking  him  by  the  neck  and  drawing  his 
head  down  upon  her  bosom. 

"You're  suffocating  me!"  cried  Castanier,  with 
his  nose  against  Aquilina's  breast. 


64  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

The  honest  girl  put  her  lips  to  Jenny's  ear: 

"  Go  and  tell  Leon  not  to  come  until  one  o'clock. 
If  you  don't  find  him  and  he  arrives  during  our  fare- 
well, keep  him  in  your  room. — Well,"  she  said  aloud, 
holding  Castanier's  face  in  front  of  her  own  and 
pulling  his  nose,  "  well,  then,  O  loveliest  of  por- 
poises, I  will  go  to  the  theatre  with  you  to-night. 
But,  in  that  case,  let  us  have  dinner!  You  have  a 
nice  little  dinner,  everything  that  you  like." 

"  It's  very  hard  to  leave  a  woman  like  you!"  said 
Castanier. 

"  Why  do  you  go,  then?"  she  asked. 

"Ah!  why?  why?  To  explain  it  to  you,  I  must 
tell  you  things  that  would  prove  to  you  that  my  love 
goes  to  the  point  of  madness.  If  you  have  given  me 
your  honor,  I  have  sold  mine,  so  we  are  quits.  Is 
that  love?" 

"What  does  that  amount  to?"  she  replied. 
"  Come,  tell  me  that,  if  I  had  a  lover,  you  would 
continue  to  love  me  like  a  father;  that  would  be 
love!  Come,  tell  me  at  once  and  give  me  your 
hand  on  it." 

"  I  would  kill  you,"  said  Castanier,  with  a  smile. 

They  adjourned  to  the  dining-room,  and  went  to 
the  Gymnase  after  they  had  dined.  When  the  first 
play  was  at  an  end,  Castanier  determined  to  speak 
to  certain  acquaintances  whom  he  had  noticed  in  the 
audience,  in  order  to  avert  as  long  as  possible  any 
suspicion  that  he  had  absconded.  He  left  Madame 
de  la  Garde  in  her  box,  which,  in  accordance  with 
her  modest  habits,  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  house, 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  65 

and  went  out  to  saunter  in  the  foyer.  He  had  taken 
but  a  few  steps,  when  he  recognized  the  features  of 
Melmoth,  whose  glance  caused  him  the  same  inward 
burning  sensation,  the  same  terror  that  he  had  felt 
before;  in  a  moment  they  stood  face  to  face. 

"  Forger!"  cried  the  Englishman. 

When  he  heard  that  word,  Castanier  glanced  at 
the  people  who  were  walking  near  them.  He  fancied 
that  he  detected  an  expression  of  amazement  mingled 
with  curiosity  upon  their  faces,  and  determined  to 
rid  himself  of  the  Englishman  on  the  spot;  he  raised 
his  hand  to  strike  him,  but  he  felt  that  his  arm  was 
paralyzed  by  an  irresistible  power,  which  took  pos- 
session of  his  strength  and  nailed  him  to  the  spot; 
he  allowed  the  stranger  to  take  his  arm,  and  they 
walked  together  up  and  down  the  foyer  like  two 
friends. 

"Who  is  strong  enough  to  resist  me?"  said  the 
Englishman.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  everybody 
on  earth  is  bound  to  obey  me,  that  I  can  do  any- 
thing? I  read  men's  hearts,  I  see  the  future,  I  know 
the  past.  I  am  here,  and  I  may  be  elsewhere!  1 
depend  neither  on  time  nor  space  nor  distance.  The 
world  is  my  servant.  I  have  the  faculty  of  being 
always  happy  and  of  always  imparting  happiness. 
My  eye  '  sees  through  walls,  discovers  treasures, 
and  1  draw  freely  upon  them.  At  a  nod  of  my 
head,  palaces  spring  up,  and  my  architect  is  never  at 
fault.  I  can  make  flowers  bloom  in  any  soil,  pile  up 
gold  and  precious  stones,  procure  women  who  are 
never  the  same;  in  a  word,  everything  yields  to  me. 
5 


66  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

I  could  trade  on  the  Bourse  with  perfect  safety,  if 
the  man  who  knows  how  to  find  gold  where  misers 
bury  it  needed  to  draw  upon  other  men's  purses. 
Feel,  therefore,  O  miserable  wretch  doomed  to  ever- 
lasting shame,  feel  the  power  of  the  claw  that  holds 
you!  Try  to  bend  this  arm  of  iron!  soften  this 
heart  of  adamant!  dare  to  stir  from  my  side!  If 
you  should  be  in  the  depths  of  the  caverns  under 
the  Seine,  would  you  not  hear  my  voice?  If  you 
should  enter  the  Catacombs,  would  you  not  see  me? 
My  voice  drowns  the  roar  of  the  thunder,  my  eyes 
rival  the  sun  in  brilliancy,  for  I  am  the  equal  of  Him 
who  bears  the  light." 

Castanier  listened  to  those  terrible  words,  nothing 
in  his  feelings  tended  to  contradict  them,  and  he 
walked  by  the  Englishman's  side,  unable  to  leave 
him. 

"  You  belong  to  me,  you  have  committed  a  crime. 
So  I  have  found  at  last  the  companion  I  sought.  Do 
you  know  your  destiny?  Ha!  ha!  you  expected  to 
see  a  play,  you  shall  not  be  disappointed,  you  shall 
see  two.  Come,  present  me  to  Madame  de  la  Garde 
as  one  of  your  best  friends.  Am  I  not  your  last 
hope?" 

Castanier  returned  to  his  box,  accompanied  by  the 
stranger,  whom  he  made  haste  to  present  to  Madame 
de  la  Garde  according  to  the  orders  he  had  received. 
Aquilina  did  not  seem  surprised  to  see  Melmoth. 
The  Englishman  declined  to  sit  at  the  front  of  the 
box,  but  insisted  that  Castanier  should  sit  beside 
his  mistress.  The  Englishman's  slightest  wish  was  a 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  67 

command  that  must  be  obeyed.  The  play  about  to 
be  performed  was  the  last.  At  that  time,  the  smaller 
theatres  gave  only  three  plays.  The  Gymnase  had 
an  actor  just  then  who  assured  its  popularity.  Perlet 
was  to  play  the  Comedien  d'Etampes,  a  vaudeville  in 
which  he  played  four  different  parts.  When  the 
curtain  rose,  the  stranger  stretched  his  hand  out 
over  the  audience.  Castanier  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm,  but  it  stuck  in  his  windpipe,  which  contracted 
violently,  for  Melmoth  pointed  to  the  stage,  thus 
giving  him  to  understand  that  he  had  ordered  the 
play  to  be  changed.  The  cashier  beheld  Nucingen's 
private  office;  his  employer  was  there  in  consultation 
with  one  of  the  higher  officials  from  the  prefecture 
of  police,  who  was  describing  Castanier's  modus 
operandi,  and  advising  him  of  the  robbery  of  his 
safe,  the  forgery  committed  to  his  detriment,  and  the 
flight  of  his  cashier.  A  complaint  was  at  once  drawn 
up,  signed,  and  despatched  to  the  king's  attorney. 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  be  in  time?"  asked 
Nucingen. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  officer;  "  he's  at  the  Gymnase, 
and  suspects  nothing." 

Castanier  fidgeted  on  his  chair  and  attempted  to 
leave  the  box;  but  the  hand  Melmoth  laid  upon  his 
shoulder  compelled  him  to  remain,  by  the  same 
ghastly  power  whose  effects  we  feel  in  a  nightmare. 
That  man  was  nightmare  personified,  and  weighed 
upon  Castanier  like  an  atmosphere  heavy  with 
poison.  When  the  poor  cashier  turned  to  the  Eng- 
lishman to  implore  mercy,  he  encountered  a  glance  of 


68  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

fire  which  shot  forth  electric  currents,  sharp  points 
of  metal,  as  it  were,  which  seemed  to  enter  Casta- 
nier's  body,  transfix  him,  and  nail  him  to  his  chair. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  you?"  he  said,  in  his  dis- 
tress, panting  like  a  deer  on  the  brink  of  a  stream; 
"  what  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"Look!"  cried  Melmoth. 

Castanier  looked  at  what  was  taking  place  on  the 
stage.  The  scene  had  been  changed,  the  play  was 
done;  Castanier  saw  himself  on  the  stage,  alighting 
from  his  carriage  with  Aquilina;  but,  just  as  they 
were  entering  the  courtyard  of  his  house  on  Rue 
Richer,  the  scene  suddenly  changed  again  and  he 
saw  the  interior  of  his  apartment.  Jenny  was  sit- 
ting by  the  fire,  in  her  mistress's  bedroom,  talking 
with  a  subaltern  of  a  regiment  of  the  line  then  in 
garrison  in  Paris. 

"He  is  going  away,"  said  the  sergeant,  who 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  well-to-do  family,  "  so  I  shall 
be  happy  at  my  ease!  I  love  Aquilina  too  dearly  to 
endure  the  thought  of  her  belonging  to  that  old  toad  ! 
For  my  part,  I  will  marry  Madame  de  la  Garde!" 
cried  the  sergeant. 

"  Here  are  monsieur  and  madame,  hide!  Quick! 
quick!  go  in  here,  Monsieur  Leon!"  said  Jenny. 
"  Monsieur  isn't  likely  to  stay  long." 

Castanier  saw  the  subaltern  crawl  behind  Aqui- 
lina's  dresses  in  her  dressing-room.  Soon  he  him- 
self came  on  once  more  and  went  through  the  parting 
scene  with  his  mistress,  who  made  fun  of  him  in  her 
asides  to  Jenny,  talking  to  him  all  the  while  in  the 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  69 

sweetest,  most  affectionate  tone.  She  wept  with 
one  side  of  her  face,  smiled  with  the  other.  The 
audience  demanded  a  repetition  of  the  scene. 

"Accursed  woman!"  cried  Castanier  from  his  box. 

Aquilina  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks,  crying: 

"Mon  Dieu!  what  a  comical  Englishwoman  Per- 
let  makes! — Why,  you're  the  only  one  in  the  whole 
audience  who  isn't  laughing,  old  boy!  Laugh,  I  tell 
you!"  she  said  to  the  cashier. 

Mel  moth  began  to  laugh  in  a  way  that  made  the 
cashier  shudder.  The  English  chuckle  wrung  his 
entrails  and  agitated  his  brain  as  if  a  surgeon  had 
trepanned  him  with  a  hot  iron. 

"  They  laugh!  they  laugh!"  said  Castanier,  hys- 
terically. 

At  that  moment,  instead  of  seeing  the  mock-mod- 
est lady  whom  Perlet  represented  so  comically,  and 
whose  Anglo-French  dialect  kept  the  whole  audi- 
ence in  a  roar  of  laughter,  the  cashier  saw  himself 
hurrying  along  Rue  Richer,  entering  a  cab  on  the 
boulevard,  making  a  bargain  with  the  driver  to  take 
him  to  Versailles.  Again  the  scene  changed.  He 
recognized  the  little  one-eyed  inn  kept  by  his  former 
quartermaster,  at  the  corner  of  Rue  de  1'Orangerie 
and  Rue  des  Recollets.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  the  most  profound  silence  reigned,  no  one 
was  watching  his  movements,  post-horses  were  har- 
nessed to  his  carriage,  and  it  was  on  its  way  from  a 
house  on  Avenue  de  Paris,  the  residence  of  an  Eng- 
lishman in  whose  name  it  had  been  ordered,  in  order 


70  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

to  avert  suspicion.  Castanier  had  his  money  and 
his  passports,  he  entered  the  carriage  and  started. 
But  at  the  barrier  he  saw  divers  gendarmes  on  foot 
waiting  for  the  carriage.  He  uttered  a  terrible  cry 
which  a  glance  from  Melmoth  silenced. 

"Look,  and  hold  your  peace!"  said  the  English- 
man. 

In  a  moment,  Castanier  saw  himself  cast  into 
prison  at  the  Conciergerie.  Then,  in  the  fifth  act  of 
that  drama  entitled  The  Cashier,  he  saw  himself, 
three  months  later,  leaving  the  Assize  Court,  sen- 
tenced to  twenty  years'  penal  servitude.  He  cried 
aloud  once  more  when  he  saw  himself  on  exhibition 
on  Place  du  Palais-de-Justice  and  branded  by  the 
executioner's  red-hot  iron.  Finally,  in  the  last  scene, 
he  was  in  the  courtyard  at  Bice"tre,  with  sixty  other 
convicts,  awaiting  his  turn  to  have  the  fetters  riveted 
on  his  leg. 

"Mon  Dieu!  I  cannot  laugh  any  more!"  said 
Aquilina.  "You  are  very  dismal,  my  boy!  what 
in  Heaven's  name's  the  matter  with  you?  That 
gentleman  isn't  here  now."  • 

"Just  a  word,  Castanier,"  said  Melmoth,  when 
the  performance  was  at  an  end  and  the  box-opener 
was  putting  on  Madame  de  la  Garde's  cloak. 

The  corridor  was  crowded,  flight  was  impossi- 
ble. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  No  human  power  can  prevent  you  from  escort- 
ing Aquilina  home,  going  to  Versailles,  and  being 
arrested." 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  71 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  arm  that  holds  you  will  not  let  you 
go,"  said  the  Englishman. 

Castanier  would  have  liked  to  be  able  to  say  a 
word,  to  annihilate  himself,  and  disappear  in  the 
depths  of  hell. 

"  If  the  devil  should  ask  you  for  your  soul,  wouldn't 
you  give  it  to  him  in  exchange  for  a  power  equal  to 
the  power  of  God?  At  a  single  word,  you  could  re- 
store to  Baron  de  Nucingen's  strong-box  the  five 
hundred  thousand  francs  you  took  from  it.  Then, 
by  tearing  up  your  letter  of  credit,  you  could  wipe 
out  every  trace  of  crime.  Lastly,  you  would  have 
gold  in  oceans.  You  hardly  believe  any  of  this,  do 
you?  Very  good;  if  it  all  comes  to  pass,  you  will  at 
least  believe  in  the  devil." 

"  If  it  were  possible!"  said  Castanier,  joyfully. 

"  He  who  can  do  this,"  replied  the  Englishman, 
"assures  you  that  it  is." 

Melmoth  put  out  his  arm  as  he  and  Castanier  and 
Madame  de  la  Garde  were  walking  along  the  boule- 
vard. A  fine  rain  was  falling,  the  ground  was  muddy, 
the  atmosphere  heavy,  and  the  sky  black.  The  in- 
stant that  man's  arm  was  extended,  the  sun  shone 
upon  Paris.  To  Castanier  it  seemed  to  be  a  beautiful 
July  afternoon.  The  trees  were  covered  with  leaves, 
and  the  good  Parisians,  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
strolled  along  in  two  joyous  lines.  The  liquorice- 
water  vendors  were  crying:  "  Fresh-made  bever- 
age!" Gorgeous  equipages  rolled  by.  The  cashier 
uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  At  that  cry,  the  boulevard 


72  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

became  damp  and  dark  as  before.  Madame  de  la 
Garde  had  entered  the  carriage. 

"  Come,  come,  hurry,  my  dear!"  she  said,  "  either 
get  in  or  stay  out.  Upon  my  word,  you're  as  trying 
to-night  as  this  rain." 

"  What  must  I  do?"  Castanier  asked  Melmoth. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  take  my  place?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  be  at  your  apartments  in  a  few 
moments." 

"Look  you,  Castanier,  you're  not  in  your  ordi- 
nary frame  of  mind,"  said  Aquilina.  "You're  con- 
templating something  out  of  the  way,  you  were  too 
glum  and  too  thoughtful  during  the  performance. 
My  dear  boy,  are  you  in  need  of  anything  that  I  can 
give  you?  tell  me." 

"  I  am  waiting  until  we  get  home  to  find  out 
whether  you  love  me." 

"  It  isn't  worth  while  to  wait,"  she  said,  throwing 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  "  see  this." 

She  kissed  him  passionately,  to  all  appearance, 
and  showered  upon  him  the  cajoleries  that,  in  crea- 
tures of  that  class,  become  part  of  the  stock  in  trade, 
just  as  stage  tricks  are  to  an  actress. 

"Where  does  this  music  come  from?"  said  Cas- 
tanier. 

"Well,  well,  so  you  hear  music  now,  do  you?" 

"Heavenly  music!"  he  replied.  "I  should  say 
that  the  strains  come  from  on  high." 

"What!  you  have  always  refused  to  give  me  a 
box  at  the  Italiens,  on  the  pretext  that  you  couldn't 


IN  AQUILINA'S  DRESSING-ROOM 


Castanier  went  into  the  dressing-room  after  light- 
ing- the  candle.  The  poor  girl,  dazed  with  fear, 
followed  him,  and  great  was  her  astonishment  when 
Castanier,  having  put  aside  the  dresses  hanging 
against  the  wall,  revealed  the  subaltern. 

"Come,  my  dear  fellow"  he  said. 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  73 

endure  music,  and  now  you're  music-mad !  Why, 
you're  crazy!  your  music's  in  your  noddle,  old 
dunderpate,"  she  said,  taking  his  head  and  rock- 
ing it  against  her  shoulder.  "Say,  papa,  are  the 
carriage-wheels  singing?" 

"Just  listen,  Naqui !  If  the  angels  sing  for  the 
good  Lord,  it  must  be  such  singing  as  this;  the 
strains  enter  my  body  through  every  pore  as  well 
as  through  my  ears,  and  I  know  not  how  to  describe 
it  to  you,  for  it  is  as  sweet  as  distilled  honey!" 

"  Why,  of  course,  the  angels  do  entertain  the  good 
Lord  with  music,  for  they  are  always  represented 
with  harps.  On  my  word  of  honor,  he's  mad!" 
she  said,  as  Castanier  assumed  the  attitude  of  an 
opium-eater  in  a  trance. 

They  had  reached  the  house.  Castanier,  en- 
grossed by  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard,  not 
knowing  whether  he  should  believe  or  doubt,  stag- 
gered like  a  drunken  man,  bereft  of  reason.  He  re- 
covered consciousness  in  Aquilina's  room,  whither 
he  had  been  carried  by  his  mistress,  the  concierge, 
and  Jenny,  for  he  had  fainted  on  alighting  from  the 
carriage. 

"  My  friends,  my  friends,  he  is  coming  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, burying  himself  in  his  easy-chair  by  the 
fire,  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

At  that  moment,  Jenny  heard  the  bell,  went  to  the 
door,  and  announced  the  Englishman  as  a  gentleman 
who  said  that  he  had  an  appointment  with  Castanier. 
Melmoth  suddenly  appeared.  There  was  a  profound 
silence.  He  looked  at  the  concierge,  the  concierge 


74  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

left  the  room.  He  looked  at  Jenny,  Jenny  left  the 
room. 

"Madame,"  he  said  to  the  courtesan,  "permit 
me  to  conclude  a  little  matter  that  admits  of  no 
delay." 

He  took  Castanier's  hand,  and  Castanier  arose. 
They  went  together  into  the  unlighted  salon,  for 
Melmoth's  eye  illumined  the  most  dense  darkness. 
Fascinated  by  the  strange  expression  of  the  unknown, 
Aquilina  remained  helpless  in  her  bedroom,  inca- 
pable of  thinking  of  her  lover,  whom  she  believed 
to  be  safely  hidden  in  her  maid's  room,  whereas 
Jenny,  surprised  by  Castanier's  early  return,  had 
hidden  him  in  the  dressing-room,  as  in  the  drama 
witnessed  by  Melmoth  and  his  victim.  The  door  of 
the  apartment  was  closed  with  violence,  and  Cas- 
tanier soon  reappeared. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  cried  his  mis- 
tress, horror-struck. 

The  cashier's  face  was  transformed.  His  ruddy 
complexion  had  given  place  to  the  strange  pallor 
that  made  the  stranger  awe-inspiring  and  cold.  His 
eyes  gave  forth  a  threatening  flame  that  wounded 
one  by  its  insufferable  brilliancy.  His  affable  man- 
ner had  become  despotic  and  proud.  To  the  courte- 
san he  seemed  to  have  grown  thin,  his  brow  was 
awful  in  its  majesty,  and  he  exhaled  a  terrifying  cur- 
rent that  weighed  upon  others  like  a  heavy  atmos- 
phere. Aquilina  for  a  moment  had  a  feeling  of  awe. 

"  What  can  have  happened  between  that  diabolical 
man  and  you  in  so  short  a  time?"  she  asked. 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  75 

"  I  have  sold  my  soul.  I  can  feel  that  I  am  no 
longer  the  same.  He  has  taken  my  being  and  given 
me  his." 

"What?" 

"You  could  not  understand. — Ah!"  added  Cas- 
tanier,  coldly,  "that  devil  was  right!  I  see  every- 
thing and  know  everything.  You  have  deceived  me!" 

Those  words  froze  Aquilina's  blood.  Castanier 
went  into  the  dressing-room  after  lighting  the  candle. 
The  poor  girl,  dazed  with  fear,  followed  him,  and 
great  was  her  astonishment  when  Castanier,  having 
put  aside  the  dresses  hanging  against  the  wall,  re- 
vealed the  subaltern. 

"Come,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  taking  Leon 
by  the  button  of  his  coat  and  leading  him  into  the 
bedroom. 

The  Piedmontese,  pale  and  desperate,  had  thrown 
herself  into  her  armchair.  Castanier  sat  on  the 
couch  by  the  hearth,  leaving  Aquilina's  lover  stand- 
ing. 

"  You  are  an  old  soldier,"  said  Leon,  "  I  am  ready 
to  give  you  satisfaction." 

"You're  a  fool,"  retorted  Castanier,  dryly.  "  I 
don't  need  to  fight,  I  can  kill  whomever  I  please, 
with  a  glance.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  your  story, 
my  boy.  Why  should  I  kill  you?  You  have  on  your 
neck  a  red  line  that  I  can  see.  The  guillotine  awaits 
you.  Yes,  you  will  die  on  Place  de  Greve.  You 
belong  to  the  executioner,  nothing  can  save  you. 
You  are  one  of  a  section  of  the  Carbonari.  You're 
conspiring  against  the  government." 


76  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

"You  never  told  me  that!"  cried  the  Piedmontese 
to  Leon. 

"So  you  don't  know,"  continued  the  cashier, 
"that  the  ministry  decided  this  morning  to  prose- 
cute your  society?  The  procureur-general  has  taken 
your  names.  You  are  denounced  by  traitors.  At 
this  moment,  they're  at  work  preparing  the  charge 
against  you." 

"  Then  it  was  you  who  betrayed  him?"  said  Aqui- 
lina,  and  she  rose  and  rushed  at  Castanier  with  a 
roar  like  that  of  a  wounded  lioness. 

"  You  know  me  too  well  to  believe  it,"  he  replied, 
with  an  imperturbable  manner  that  turned  her  to 
stone. 

"  How  do  you  know  it,  then?" 

"  I  didn't  know  it  until  I  went  into  the  salon;  but 
now  I  see  everything,  I  know  everything,  I  can  do 
everything." 

The  subaltern  was  stupefied. 

"Then  save  him,  my  friend!"  cried  the  girl, 
throwing  herself  at  Castanier's  feet.  "  Save  him, 
if  you  can  do  everything!  I  will  love  you,  I  will  wor- 
ship you,  I  will  be  your  slave  instead  of  your  mis- 
tress !  I  will  bow  to  your  most  extravagant  caprices, 
you  shall  do  with  me  what  you  will !  Yes,  I  will  find 
something  more  than  love  for  you;  I  will  be  as  de- 
voted as  a  daughter  to  her  father,  in  addition  to — 
But  you  understand,  Rodolphe!  However  violent 
my  passions  may  be,  I  will  always  be  yours!  What 
is  there  that  I  can  say  to  you  to  move  you?  I  will 
invent  new  pleasures — I — God  help  me!  if  you  want 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  77 

me  to  do  anything  under  heaven,  to  throw  myself 
out  of  the  window,  you  have  only  to  say:  '  Leon!' 
and  I  will  jump  into  hell,  welcome  every  variety  of 
suffering,  disease,  and  sorrow,  whatever  you  choose 
to  inflict  on  me!" 

Castanier  was  unmoved.  His  only  reply  was  to 
point  to  Leon,  and  say,  with  a  demoniacal  laugh: 

"  The  guillotine  awaits  him." 

"  No,  he  shall  not  leave  this  room,  I  will  save 
him!"  she  cried.  "Yes,  I  will  kill  the  man  that 
touches  him!  Why  won't  you  consent  to  save 
him?"  she  shrieked  in  a  piercing  voice,  her  eyes 
aflame,  her  hair  dishevelled.  "Can  you?" 

"  I  can  do  anything." 

"  Why  won't  you  save  him?" 

"Why?"  cried  Castanier  in  a  voice  that  shook 
the  rafters.  "Ah!  I  am  having  my  revenge!  It  is 
my  trade  to  do  harm." 

"Die!"  rejoined  Aquilina,  "he,  my  lover,  die!  is 
it  possible?" 

She  rushed  to  her  commode,  snatched  a  stiletto 
from  a  work-basket,  and  leaped  at  Castanier,  who 
began  to  laugh. 

"  You  know  very  well  that  steel  cannot  touch  me 
now." 

Aquilina's  arm  relaxed  like  a  harp-string  suddenly 
cut. 

"  Go,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  cashier,  turning 
to  the  subaltern;  "go  about  your  business." 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  the  soldier  was  obliged 
to  obey  the  superior  force  Castanier  exerted. 


78  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

"  I  am  in  my  own  house,  I  might  send  to  the  com- 
missioner of  police  and  hand  over  to  him  a  man 
who  comes  into  my  house  by  stealth,  but  I  prefer  to 
restore  your  liberty:  1  am  a  devil,  not  a  spy." 

"  I  will  go  with  him!"  said  Aquilina. 

"Go  with  him,"  Castanier  retorted. — "Jenny!" 

Jenny  answered  his  summons. 

"Send  the  concierge  to  call  a  cab  for  them. — 
Here,  Naqui,"  he  added,  taking  a  package  of  bank- 
notes from  his  pocket,  "you  shall  not  leave  a  man 
who  still  loves  you,  like  a  poor  abandoned  creature." 

He  handed  her  three  hundred  thousand  francs; 
Aquilina  took  them,  threw  them  on  the  floor,  spit  on 
them,  stamped  on  them  in  a  frenzy  of  despair. 

"We  will  both  go  out  on  foot,"  she  exclaimed, 
"without  a  sou  from  you! — Stay,  Jenny." 

"  Good-night,"  retorted  the  cashier,  picking  up  his 
money.  "  I  have  just  returned  from  a  journey. — 
Jenny,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  wondering  lady's 
maid,  "  you  seem  to  me  a  good  girl.  You're  without 
a  mistress;  come  here!  For  to-night  you  shall  have  a 
master." 

Aquilina,  distrustful  of  everyone,  went  at  once 
with  the  subaltern  to  the  house  of  one  of  her  friends. 
But  Leon  was  under  suspicion  by  the  police,  who 
caused  him  to  be  followed  wherever  he  went.  He 
was  arrested  a  few  days  later,  with  his  three  friends, 
as  the  newspapers  of  the  day  record. 

The  cashier  was  conscious  of  a  complete  change, 
moral  as  well  as  physical.  The  former  Castanier, 
child,  youth,  lover,  soldier,  brave,  deceived,  married, 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  79 

undeceived,  cashier,  passionate,  a  criminal  through 
love,  no  longer  existed.  His  interior  form  had  burst. 
In  a  twinkling  his  brain  had  expanded,  his  senses 
had  broadened.  His  mind  embraced  the  whole 
world,  he  saw  things  as  if  he  were  placed  at  a  tre- 
mendous height.  Before  going  to  the  play,  he  had 
a  most  insane  passion  for  Aquilina;  rather  than  give 
her  up  he  would  have  shut  his  eyes  to  her  infidel- 
ity; that  blind  sentiment  had  faded  away  as  a  cloud 
vanishes  before  the  sun's  rays. 

Overjoyed  to  step  into  her  mistress's  shoes  and 
possess  her  fortune,  Jenny  did  whatever  the  cashier 
wished.  But  Castanier,  having  the  power  to  read 
the  mind,  discovered  the  real  motive  of  that  purely 
physical  devotion.  So  he  amused  himself  with  that 
girl  with  the  malicious  greediness  of  a  child  who, 
after  squeezing  the  juice  from  a  cherry,  throws 
away  the  stone.  The  next  morning,  at  breakfast, 
when  she  fancied  herself  duly  installed  as  mistress 
of  the  house,  Castanier,  as  he  drank  his  coffee,  re- 
peated to  her  word  for  word,  thought  for  thought, 
what  she  was  saying  to  herself. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  thinking,  my  girl?" 
he  said,  with  a  smile;  "this  is  it:  '  This  lovely  violet- 
wood  furniture  that  I  wanted  so  badly,  and  these 
beautiful  dresses  that  I've  been  trying  on,  are  mine! 
They  have  cost  me  only  a  few  trifles  that  madame 
refused  him,  I  don't  know  why!  Faith,  for  the  sake 
of  riding  in  a  carriage,  having  fine  clothes,  having  a 
box  at  the  theatre,  and  obtaining  a  nice  little  income, 
I'd  give  him  enjoyment  enough  to  kill  him,  if  he 


80  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

weren't  as  lusty  as  a  Turk.  I  never  saw  such  a 
man!' — Is  that  about  it?"  he  continued,  in  a  voice 
that  made  Jenny  turn  pale.  "Well,  my  girl,  you 
wouldn't  hold  to  your  bargain,  and  it's  for  your  own 
good  that  I  send  you  away;  you  would  die  at  the 
task.  Come,  let  us  part  good  friends." 

He  dismissed  her  coldly,  giving  her  a  small  sum. 

The  first  use  Castanier  had  promised  himself  to 
make  of  the  terrible  power  he  had  purchased  at  the 
price  of  his  everlasting  salvation  was  to  satisfy  his 
inclinations  fully  and  absolutely.  After  putting  his 
affairs  in  order,  and  settling  his  accounts  satisfac- 
torily with  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  who  hired  an 
honest  German  to  succeed  him,  he  determined  to 
have  a  debauch  worthy  of  the  Roman  Empire  at  its 
best,  and  plunged  into  it  as  desperately  as  Belshaz- 
zar  attacked  his  last  feast.  But,  like  Belshazzar, 
he  distinctly  saw  a  hand  gleaming  with  light  writing 
his  doom  in  the  midst  of  his  carousing,  not  on  the 
narrow  walls  of  a  room,  but  on  the  boundless  walls 
upon  which  the  rainbow  appears.  His  feast  was 
not,  in  truth,  a  revel  confined  to  the  limits  of  a  ban- 
quet, it  was  a  reckless  squandering  of  every  element 
of  strength  and  enjoyment.  The  earth  itself  was, 
in  a  manner,  the  festive  board  that  he  felt  quiver- 
ing beneath  his  feet.  It  was  the  last  revel  of  a 
debauchee  who  spares  nothing.  Drawing  without 
stint  upon  the  treasure  of  human  lust,  the  key  of 
which  had  been  handed  him  by  the  demon,  he  soon 
reached  the  bottom.  That  enormous  power,  grasped 
in  a  moment,  was  put  to  the  test,  found  reliable,  and 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  8l 

abused.  That  which  was  everything  was  nothing. 
It  often  happens  that  possession  ruins  the  most 
ecstatic  poems  of  desire,  for  the  object  possessed 
rarely  answers  to  desire's  dreams.  That  pitiful 
ending  of  a  few  passions  was  the  secret  concealed 
beneath  Melmoth's  omnipotence.  The  emptiness  of 
human  nature  was  abruptly  revealed  to  his  successor, 
to  whom  supreme  power  brought  nothingness  by 
way  of  dowry.  In  order  to  understand  clearly  the 
peculiar  situation  in  which  Castanier  was  placed, 
one  must  be  able  to  form  an  idea  of  its  swift  trans- 
formations, and  to  conceive  how  brief  was  their  dura- 
tion, a  thing  which  it  is  difficult  to  explain  to  those 
who  are  imprisoned  by  the  laws  of  time,  space,  and 
distance.  His  broadened  faculties  had  changed  the 
relations  that  formerly  existed  between  the  world 
and  himself.  Like  Melmoth,  Castanier  could  in  a 
few  seconds  alight  in  the  smiling  valleys  of  Hindos- 
tan,  fly  upon  demons'  wings  across  the  African 
deserts,  and  skim  along  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Just 
as  his  keenness  of  vision  enabled  him  to  go  to  the 
root  of  everything  the  instant  that  his  faculties  were 
directed  upon  any  material  object,  or  into  another 
person's  mind,  so  his  tongue  tasted,  so  to  speak,  all 
the  delicious  flavors  at  one  touch.  His  pleasure 
resembled  the  blows  of  the  axe  of  despotism,  which 
fells  the  tree  in  order  to  obtain  the  fruit.  The  trans- 
itions, the  alternations  which  furnish  a  measure  of 
joy  and  suffering,  and  give  variety  to  all  human 
pleasures,  had  no  existence  for  him.  His  palate, 
sensitive  beyond  all  measure,  had  suddenly  been 
6 


82  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

spoiled  through  being  surfeited  with  everything. 
Women  and  good  cheer  were  two  varieties  of  pleas- 
ure which  palled  upon  him  so  completely  as  soon 
as  he  was  able  to  enjoy  them  in  such  way  as  to 
out-pleasure  pleasure,  that  he  ceased  to  have  the 
slightest  desire  to  eat  or  to  love.  Knowing  that  he 
was  the  master  of  all  the  women  he  might  desire, 
and  knowing  that  he  was  possessed  of  a  power 
which  would  never  fail  him,  he  wanted  no  more  of 
women;  finding  them  prepared  in  advance  to  submit 
to  his  most  outrageous  caprices,  he  felt  a  horrible 
thirst  for  love,  and  wished  them  to  be  more  loving 
than  it  was  in  their  power  to  be.  But  the  only  things 
the  world  denied  him  were  faith  and  prayer,  those 
two  healing  and  consoling  loves.  Everyone  obeyed 
him.  It  was  a  ghastly  state  of  affairs.  The  torrents 
of  sorrows,  of  pleasures,  of  thoughts,  that  shook  his 
body  and  his  soul  would  have  been  too  much  for 
the  strongest  human  being ;  but  there  was  in  him 
a  power  of  living  proportioned  to  the  violence  of  the 
sensations  that  assailed  him.  He  felt  within  him  an 
enormous  something  which  the  earth  no  longer  satis- 
fied. He  passed  the  day  spreading  his  wings,  seek- 
ing to  traverse  the  spheres  of  light  of  which  he  had 
a  distinct  and  distressing  intuition.  He  was  drying 
up  internally,  for  he  was  hungry  and  thirsty  for 
things  which  could  not  be  eaten  or  drunk,  but  which 
attracted  him  irresistibly.  His  lips  glowed  with 
desire,  like  Melmoth's  own,  and  he  panted  for  the 
UNKNOWN,  for  he  knew  everything.  Being  per- 
mitted to  see  the  active  principle  and  the  mechanism 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  83 

of  the  world,  he  ceased  to  admire  their  results,  and 
soon  manifested  that  profound  contempt  which  makes 
the  man  of  superior  mould  like  a  sphinx  who  knows 
everything,  sees  everything,  and  remains  silent  and 
unmoved.  He  did  not  feel  the  slightest  inclination 
to  communicate  his  knowledge  to  other  men.  Rich 
in  the  possession  of  the  whole  earth,  and  endowed 
with  the  power  to  encircle  it  at  one  bound,  wealth 
and  power  no  longer  had  any  meaning  for  him.  He 
experienced  that  ghastly  depression  attaching  to 
supreme  power  which  only  God  and  Satan  can 
overcome  by  an  activity  of  which  they  alone  possess 
the  secret. 

Castanier  had  not,  like  his  master,  an  inexhausti- 
ble power  of  hatred  and  evil-doing;  he  felt  that  he 
was  a  demon,  but  a  demon  in  futuro,  whereas  Satan 
is  a  demon  for  all  eternity;  nothing  can  redeem  him, 
and  he  knows  it,  so  he  takes  pleasure  in  stirring  up 
the  world  with  his  three-pronged  fork,  as  if  it  were 
a  dungheap,  and  interfering  with  God's  projects. 
Unluckily  for  Castanier,  he  retained  a  shadow  of 
hope.  He  could  go  abruptly,  in  an  instant,  from 
pole  to  pole,  as  a  bird  flies  desperately  from  side  to 
side  of  its  cage;  but  when  he  had  taken  that  flight, 
like  the  bird,  he  saw  boundless  space.  He  had  a 
vision  of  the  infinite  which  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  regard  human  affairs  as  other  men  regard 
them.  The  madmen  who  desire  the  power  of  the 
devil  judge  that  power  from  their  standpoint  as 
human  beings,  not  foreseeing  that  they  must  shoul- 
der the  devil's  ideas  when  they  assume  his  power, 


84  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

while  they  continue  to  be  men  and  to  remain  among 
other  men  who  can  no  longer  understand  them.  The 
unpublished  Nero  who  dreams  of  burning  Paris  for 
his  diversion,  just  as  a  supposititious  conflagration  is 
represented  on  the  stage,  does  not  suspect  that  Paris 
will  become  to  him  what  an  ant-hill  by  the  roadside 
is  to  the  hurried  traveller.  The  sciences  were  to 
Castanier  what  an  enigma  is  to  him  who  knows  the 
answer.  Kings  and  governments  aroused  his  pity. 
His  grand  debauch,  therefore,  was,  in  a  certain 
sense,  a  deplorable  farewell  to  his  human  state. 
He  felt  stifled  on  earth,  for  his  infernal  power  en- 
abled him  to  watch  the  processes  of  creation,  whose 
moving  causes  and  final  result  he  knew.  Knowing 
that  he  was  excluded  from  what  men  call  heaven  in 
every  language,  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  heaven. 
He  understood  the  inward  shrivelling  depicted  on  his 
predecessor's  face,  he  measured  the  significance  of 
that  glance  inflamed  by  a  hope  never  fulfilled,  he 
experienced  the  thirst  that  parched  that  red  lip,  and 
the  distress  of  a  constant  combat  between  two  ex- 
panded natures.  He  might  yet  be  an  angel,  he  was 
a  devil.  He  resembled  the  sweet  creature  who  was 
imprisoned  by  the  ill-will  of  a  sorcerer  in  a  deformed 
body,  and,  being  bound  by  the  terms  of  her  compact, 
required  the  assistance  of  another  person's  will  to 
destroy  the  hated  envelope.  Just  as  the  truly  great 
man  is  the  more  eager  in  his  search  for  infinity  of 
sentiment  in  a  woman's  heart,  after  being  deceived, 
so  Castanier  suddenly  found  himself  beset  by  a 
single  idea,  the  idea  which  was,  perhaps,  the  key  to 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  85 

the  worlds  above.  By  virtue  of  the  very  fact  that  he 
had  renounced  his  hope  of  everlasting  happiness, 
he  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  future  of  those  who 
pray  and  believe.  When,  upon  the  conclusion  of 
the  debauch  during  which  he  took  possession  of  his 
power,  he  felt  the  clutch  of  that  sentiment,  he  ex- 
perienced the  agony  that  the  sanctified  poets,  the 
apostles,  and  the  great  oracles  of  the  faith  have  de- 
scribed in  such  grandiose  terms.  Spurred  on  by  the 
flaming  sword  whose  sharp  point  he  felt  in  his  loins, 
he  ran  to  Melmoth's  house  to  see  what  had  become 
of  his  predecessor.  The  Englishman  lived  on  Rue 
Ferou,  near  Saint-Sulpice,  in  a  gloomy,  dark,  damp, 
cold  house.  That  street,  which  runs  north  and  south 
like  all  those  which  strike  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine 
at  right  angles,  is  one  of  the  most  dismal  in  Paris,  and 
its  characteristics  are  reflected  in  the  houses  that  line 
it.  When  Castanier  stood  in  the  doorway,  he  saw 
that  it  was  draped  with  black,  as  was  the  vestibule. 
The  vestibule  gleamed  with  the  lights  of  a  mortuary 
apartment.  A  temporary  cenotaph  had  been  erected 
there,  and  a  priest  stood  on  each  side. 

"  I  need  not  ask  you  why  you  have  come,  mon- 
sieur," said  an  old  portress  to  Castanier:  "  you  look 
too  much  like  the  poor  dear  deceased.  If  you're  his 
brother,  you  have  come  too  late  to  bid  him  good-bye. 
The  excellent  man  died  the  night  before  last." 

"How  did  he  die?"  Castanier  asked  one  of  the 
priests. 

"Be  happy,"  an  old  priest  answered,  raising  one 
side  of  the  black  cloths  that  surrounded  the  cenotaph. 


86  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

Castanier  saw  one  of  those  faces  which  faith 
makes  sublime,  and  through  whose  pores  the  soul 
seems  to  go  forth  to  shine  upon  other  men  and  ex- 
cite them  by  persistently  instilling  sentiments  of 
charity.  The  priest  was  Sir  John  Melmoth's  con- 
fessor. 

"Monsieur,  your  brother,"  he  said,  "made  an 
end  worthy  of  emulation,  which  must  have  rejoiced 
the  hearts  of  the  angels.  Do  you  know  what  joy  is 
aroused  in  heaven  by  the  conversion  of  one  single 
soul?  The  tears  of  repentance,  called  forth  by 
divine  grace,  flowed  unceasingly;  death  alone  could 
dry  them.  The  Holy  Spirit  was  in  him.  His  ardent, 
earnest  words  were  worthy  of  the  prophet-king. 
While  it  is  true  that  1  have  never,  in  the  course 
of  my  life,  heard  a  more  horrifying  confession  than 
that  of  this  Irish  gentleman,  it  is  equally  true  that  I 
have  never  heard  more  fervent  prayers  than  his. 
Great  as  his  sins  may  have  been,  his  repentance 
filled  the  abyss  in  an  instant.  God's  hand  was 
visibly  extended  over  him,  for  he  did  not  resemble 
himself;  he  had  become  so  beautiful,  with  a  saintlike 
beauty.  His  eyes,  once  so  hard,  were  softened  by 
his  tears;  his  voice,  once  so  resonant  and  terrifying, 
acquired  the  softness  and  charm  which  distinguish 
the  voices  of  men  who  have  humbled  themselves. 
He  so  edified  those  who  listened  to  his  words,  that 
the  persons  drawn  hither  by  the  spectacle  of  that 
Christian  death  fell  upon  their  knees  as  they  heard 
him  glorify  God,  tell  of  His  infinite  grandeur,  and 
discourse  of  heavenly  things.  Although  he  leaves 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  87 

his  family  nothing,  he  has  surely  bestowed  upon  it 
the  most  precious  treasure  that  families  can  possess, 
a  sanctified  soul  that  will  watch  over  you  all  and  lead 
you  in  the  straight  path." 

These  words  produced  such  a  powerful  effect  upon 
Castanier,  that  he  left  the  house  abruptly  and  walked 
toward  Saint-Sulpice,  obeying  a  sort  of  fatality;  Mel- 
moth's  repentance  had  bewildered  him.  About  that 
time,  a  man,  famous  for  his  eloquence,  was  holding 
conferences  on  certain  days,  in  the  morning,  his  aim 
being  to  demonstrate  the  verities  of  the  Catholic 
Church  to  the  youth  of  the  period,  who  had  been  de- 
clared, by  another  no  less  eloquent  voice,  to  be  in- 
different in  the  matter  of  faith.  The  conference  on 
that  day  was  to  be  followed  by  the  Irishman's 
funeral.  Castanier  arrived  at  the  precise  moment 
when  the  preacher  was  about  to  sum  up  the  proofs  of 
our  happy  future,  with  the  unctuous  charm,  with  the 
penetrating  eloquence,  which  made  him  illustrious. 
The  ex-dragoon,  into  whose  skin  the  devil  had  crept, 
was  in  the  most  favorable  condition  to  receive  with 
fruitful  results  the  seed  of  the  divine  words  as  in- 
terpreted by  the  priest.  In  truth,  if  there  is  one 
indubitable  phenomenon,  is  it  not  the  moral  phenom- 
enon which  the  common  people  have  called  the  char- 
coal-burner's faith?*  The  power  of  faith  is  in  direct 
ratio  to  the  greater  or  less  use  a  man  has  made  of 
his  reasoning  powers.  Men  of  simple  lives,  and  sol- 
diers, are  of  this  number.  They  who  have  marched 

*Lafoi  du  charbonnier ,— a  phrase  used  to  express  a  faith  that  is  absolute  and 
unquestioning. 


88  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

under  the  banner  of  instinct  are  much  better  fitted 
to  receive  the  light  than  they  whose  minds  and 
hearts  have  become  fatigued  in  the  subtleties  of  the 
world.  From  the  age  of  sixteen  until  he  was  nearly 
forty,  Castanier,  a  man  of  the  South,  had  followed 
the  French  flag.  A  simple  cavalryman,  obliged  to 
fight  yesterday  and  to-day  and  to-morrow,  he  natu- 
rally thought  of  his  horse  before  thinking  of  himself. 
During  his  military  apprenticeship,  therefore,  he  had 
few  hours  to  think  of  the  future  of  mankind.  As 
an  officer,  he  had  given  his  thoughts  to  his  soldiers, 
and  he  had  gone  from  battle-field  to  battle-field  with- 
out once  thinking  of  the  day  after  death.  Military 
life  calls  for  few  ideas.  Men  who  are  incapable  of 
rising  to  the  height  of  those  lofty  combinations 
which  embrace  the  rights  and  duties  of  nations  with 
respect  to  one  another,  political  plans  as  well  as 
plans  of  campaign,  the  science  of  the  tactician  and 
that  of  the  administrator — such  men  live  in  a  state  of 
ignorance  comparable  to  that  of  the  stupidest  peasant 
in  the  least  progressive  province  of  France.  They 
go  forward,  passively  obeying  the  mind  that  com- 
mands them,  and  kill  the  men  in  front  of  them  as 
the  wood-cutter  fells  trees  in  a  forest.  They  pass 
and  repass  constantly  from  a  state  of  violent  excite- 
ment which  calls  for  the  exertion  of  all  their  physi- 
cal strength,  to  a  state  of  repose  during  which  they 
repair  their  losses.  They  strike  and  drink,  they 
strike  and  eat,  they  strike  and  sleep,  in  order  that 
they  may  strike  more  effectively.  In  that  life  of 
turmoil  their  mental  qualities  are  exercised  but  little. 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  89 

The  mental  equipment  retains  its  primitive  simplicity. 
When  these  men,  who  exhibit  such  energy  on  the 
field  of  battle,  return  to  civilization,  the  greater  part 
of  those  who  have  remained  in  the  lower  grades  are 
without  acquired  ideas,  without  faculties,  without 
breadth.  So  that  the  younger  generation  is  amazed 
to  find  those  members  of  our  glorious  and  terrible 
armies  as  devoid  of  intelligence  as  any  clerk,  and  as 
simple-minded  as  children.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
a  captain  in  the  death-dealing  Garde  Imperiale  who 
is  fitted  to  sign  receipts  for  subscriptions  to  a  news- 
paper. When  old  soldiers  are  in  this  condition,  their 
minds,  innocent  of  reasoning  power,  obey  any  power- 
ful impulsion.  The  crime  committed  by  Castanier 
was  one  of  those  facts  which  raise  so  many  questions, 
that,  in  order  to  discuss  it,  the  moralist  would  have 
demanded  a  division  of  the  question,  to  employ  a 
parliamentary  expression.  The  crime  was  suggested 
by  passion,  by  one  of  those  instances  of  feminine 
witchcraft  so  irresistible  that  no  man  can  say:  "I  will 
never  do  that,"  when  a  siren  takes  a  hand  in  the 
struggle  and  exerts  her  fascinations.  The  word  of 
life  therefore  fell  upon  a  mind  new  to  the  religious 
truths  which  the  French  Revolution  and  the  life  of  a 
soldier  had  caused  Castanier  to  neglect.  The  awful 
words:  •"  You  will  be  happy  or  unhappy  throughout 
eternity!"  made  the  more  violent  impression  upon 
him  because  he  had  grown  weary  of  earth,  because 
he  had  shaken  it  like  a  tree  without  fruit,  and  be- 
cause, in  the  impotence  of  his  desires,  nothing  more 
was  needed  than  that  a  certain  point  in  heaven  or 


90  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

earth  should  be  forbidden  to  him,  to  make  his  heart 
yearn  for  it.  If  we  may  be  permitted  to  compare 
such  momentous  things  with  social  trifles,  he  resem- 
bled those  multi-millionaire  bankers  whom  no  one 
in  society  can  resist,  but  who,  not  having  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  circles  of  nobility,  have  no  other  desire 
than  to  be  so  admitted,  and  count  for  nothing  all 
the  social  privileges  they  may  have  acquired  so  long 
as  one  is  still  lacking.  That  man,  more  powerful 
than  all  the  kings  on  earth,  that  man,  who  could, 
like  Satan,  contend  with  God  himself,  stood  leaning 
against  one  of  the  pillars  of  Saint-Sulpice,  bowed  by 
the  weight  of  a  sentiment  and  buried  in  thoughts 
of  the  future,  even  as  Melmoth  had  buried  himself. 

"  He  is  very  fortunate!"  cried  Castanier,  "  he  died 
with  the  certainty  of  going  to  heaven." 

Instantly  a  most  complete  change  took  place  in  the 
cashier's  ideas.  Having  been  a  demon  for  several 
days,  he  was  now  a  mere  man  once  more,  the  image 
of  the  original  fall  commemorated  in  all  cosmogonies. 
But,  though  he  became  outwardly  small,  he  had  ac- 
quired a  source  of  inward  grandeur,  he  had  dipped 
into  the  infinite.  The  infernal  power  had  revealed 
to  him  the  divine  power.  His  thirst  for  heaven  was 
more  intense  than  his  hunger  had  been  for  earthly 
pleasures,  so  soon  exhausted.  The  enjoyments  the 
devil  promises  are  only  those  of 'earth  intensified, 
whereas  the  joys  of  heaven  are  without  bounds. 
That  man  believed  in  God.  The  words  that  de- 
livered the  treasures  of  the  world  to  him  were  as 
nothing  in  his  sight,  and  those  treasures  seemed  to 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  91 

him  as  contemptible  as  pebbles  are  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  love  diamonds;  for,  as  he  saw  them,  they 
were  mere  tinsel  in  comparison  with  the  undying 
beauties  of  the  other  life.  To  his  mind,  any  good 
coming  from  that  source  was  accursed.  He  remained 
plunged  in  an  abyss  of  dark  shadows  and  depressing 
thoughts,  listening  to  the  service  for  Melmoth.  The 
Dies  Irce  terrified  him.  He  understood  in  all  its 
grandeur  that  cry  of  the  penitent  soul  shuddering  in 
presence  of  the  Divine  Majesty.  He  was  suddenly 
consumed  by  the  Holy  Spirit  as  fire  consumes  straw. 
Tears  flowed  from  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  a  kinsman  of  the  deceased?"  inquired 
the  beadle. 

"  His  heir,"  replied  Castanier. 

"Something  for  the  cost  of  the  service!"  cried 
the  beadle. 

"  No,"  said  the  cashier,  who  did  not  choose  to 
give  the  devil's  money  to  the  church. 

"  For  the  poor!" 

"No." 

"  For  repairing  the  church!" 

"No." 

"For  the  chapel  of  the  Virgin!" 

"No." 

"  For  the  seminary!" 

"No." 

Castanier  withdrew,  to  avoid  the  angry  glances 
of  several  churchmen. 

"Why,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  gazed  at  Saint-Sul- 
pice,  "why  did  men  build  these  gigantic  cathedrals, 


92  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

which  I  have  seen  in  all  countries?  This  senti- 
ment, which  the  masses  have  shared  in  all  ages, 
must  rest  upon  something." 

"You  call  God  something!"  cried  his  conscience. 
"God!  God!  God!" 

That  word,  echoed  by  an  inward  voice,  over- 
whelmed him,  but  his  sensation  of  terror  was 
allayed  by  the  distant  strains  of  the  divine  music 
which  he  had  already  vaguely  heard.  He  attrib- 
uted those  harmonious  sounds  to  the  choir  of  the 
church,  and  gazed  at  the  great  doorway.  But  by 
listening  more  attentively,  he  found  that  the  sound 
seemed  to  come  from  all  sides;  he  looked  about  and 
saw  no  musicians  anywhere.  While  that  melody 
wafted  into  his  soul  the  azure  poesy  and  distant 
gleams  of  hope,  it  also  increased  the  activity  of  the 
remorse  which  tormented  the  doomed  man,  who 
went  about  Paris  as  men  go  who  are  crushed  by 
sorrow.  He  looked  at  everything  and  saw  nothing, 
he  walked  at  random  after  the  manner  of  idlers;  he 
stopped  for  no  cause,  talked  to  himself,  and  took  no 
pains  to  avoid  being  struck  by  a  board  or  the  wheel 
of  a  carriage.  Repentance  insensibly  delivered  him 
over  to  that  grace  which  crushes  the  heart  gently 
and  at  the  same  time  pitilessly.  Soon  there  was  in 
his  face,  as  in  Melmoth's,  a  something  grand,  but 
distraught;  a  cold,  disconsolate  expression  like  that  of 
a  man  in  despair,  and  the  breathless  eagerness  born 
of  hope;  and,  over  and  above  all  else,  his  heart  was 
filled  with  disgust  for  all  the  good  things  of  this  in- 
ferior world.  His  glance,  terrifying  in  its  keenness, 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  93 

concealed  the  most  humble  prayers.  He  suffered 
in  proportion  to  his  power.  His  soul,  violently 
agitated,  forced  his  body  to  bend,  as  a  fierce  wind 
bends  the  lofty  firs.  No  more  than  his  predecessor 
could  he  refuse  to  live,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  die 
under  the  yoke  of  hell.  His  punishment  became 
unendurable  to  him.  At  last,  one  morning,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  Melmoth  of  blessed  memory  had 
suggested  to  him  that  he  take  his  place  and  that  he 
had  accepted;  that  other  men  could  undoubtedly  be 
found  who  would  do  as  he  had  done;  and  that,  at  an 
epoch  whose  fatal  indifference  in  religious  matters 
was  loudly  proclaimed  by  the  inheritors  of  the  elo- 
quence of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  he  ought  easily 
to  find  a  man  who  would  agree  to  the  stipulations  of 
the  contract  in  order  to  reap  its  advantages. 

"  There  is  a  place  where  the  value  of  kings  is 
quoted,  where  nations  are  weighed,  where  systems 
are  compared,  where  governments  are  measured  by 
the  crown  of  a  hundred  sous,  where  ideas  and  creeds 
are  appraised,  where  everything  is  discounted,  where 
God  himself  borrows  and  pledges  his  income  in  souls 
as  surety,  for  the  Pope  has  an  account  current  there. 
If  I  can  find  a  soul  for  sale  anywhere,  is  not  that  the 
place?" 

Castanier  joyously  bent  his  steps  to  the  Bourse, 
thinking  that  he  could  traffic  in  a  soul  there  as  in  the 
public  funds.  An  ordinary  man  would  have  been 
afraid  of  being  laughed  at;  but  Castanier  knew  by 
experience  that  everything  wears  a  serious  aspect  to 
the  man  in  despair.  Like  the  condemned  felon  who 


94  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

would  listen  to  a  madman  if  he  should  tell  him  that 
by  pronouncing  certain  absurd  words  he  could  fly 
away  through  the  keyhole,  the  man  who  suffers  is 
credulous  and  does  not  abandon  an  idea  until  it  has 
failed,  as  the  branch  breaks  in  the  hand  of  the  drown- 
ing man.  About  four  o'clock,  Castanier  made  his 
appearance  among  the  groups  formed,  after  the  close 
of  dealings  in  public  securities,  for  trading  in  private 
shares  and  for  negotiating  purely  commercial  trans- 
actions. He  was  acquainted  with  several  merchants, 
and,  by  pretending  to  be  in  search  of  someone,  was 
able  to  listen  to  the  current  rumors  concerning  men 
in  embarrassed  circumstances. 

"  Let  me  know,  my  boy,  when  I  discount  any  of 
Claparon  and  Company's  paper  for  you!  They  let 
the  messenger  from  the  Bank  carry  back  their  notes 
that  came  due  this  morning,"  said  a  stout  banker  in 
his  blunt  language.  "  If  you  have  any  of  it,  keep 
it!" 

This  Claparon  was  in  the  courtyard,  talking  ear- 
nestly with  a  man  who  was  known  to  discount  notes 
at  usurious  rates.  Castanier  at  once  walked  toward 
them. 

Claparon  was  a  speculator  noted  for  taking  the 
chances  of  bold  ventures  which  might  ruin  him  as 
well  as  enrich  him.  When  Castanier  approached 
him,  the  money-lender  had  just  left  him  and  the 
speculator  had  allowed  a  gesture  of  despair  to  escape 
him. 

"  Well,  Claparon,  so  we  have  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  to  pay  at  the  Bank,  and  here  it  is  four  o'clock; 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  95 

everybody  knows  it,  and  we  have  no  time  to  arrange 
our  little  failure,"  said  Castanier. 

"  Monsieur!" 

"  Speak  lower,"  rejoined  the  cashier.  "  Suppose 
I  should  suggest  a  transaction  in  which  you  could 
pick  up  as  much  gold  as  you  wanted?" 

"  It  wouldn't  pay  my  debts,  for  I  don't  know  of 
any  sort  of  a  transaction  that  doesn't  require  time 
to  cook." 

"  I  know  of  one  that  would  enable  you  to  pay 
them  in  a  moment,"  replied  Castanier,  "  but  which 
would  require  you  to — " 

"To  what?" 

"  To  sell  your  interest  in  paradise.  Isn't  that  as 
legitimate  a  trade  as  any  other?  We  are  all  stock- 
holders in  the  great  enterprise  of  eternity." 

"  Do  you  know  that  I'm  just  in  the  mood  to  horse- 
whip you?"  said  Claparon,  angrily;  "  it  isn't  fair  to 
crack  foolish  jokes  on  a  man  who  is  down!" 

"  I  am  speaking  seriously,"  rejoined  Castanier, 
taking  a  package  of  bank-notes  from  his  pocket. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Claparon,  "  I  won't  sell 
my  soul  to  the  devil  for  a  trifle.  I  need  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  go — " 

"Who  talks  of  being  niggardly?"  retorted  Cas- 
tanier, sharply.  "  You  shall  have  more  money  than 
the  Bank  vaults  will  hold." 

He  held  out  a  pile  of  notes  which  decided  the 
speculator. 

"Done!"  said  he.  "But  how  do  we  arrange 
it?" 


Cj6  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

"  Come  over  yonder  where  there  isn't  anybody," 
said  Castanier,  pointing  to  a  corner  of  the  court- 
yard. 

Claparon  and  his  tempter  exchanged  a  few  words, 
each  with  his  face  turned  toward  the  wall.  None 
of  those  who  had  noticed  them  guessed  the  object  of 
that  private  conference,  although  their  curiosity  was 
keenly  aroused  by  the  extraordinary  character  of  the 
gestures  made  by  the  two  contracting  parties.  When 
Castanier  returned,  the  bystanders  uttered  loud  ex- 
clamations of  amazement.  As  in  all  assemblages  of 
Frenchmen,  where  the  slightest  incident  attracts  at- 
tention at  once,  all  faces  were  turned  toward  the 
two  men  who  were  the  cause  of  the  excitement; 
and  not  without  a  feeling  of  horror  did  they  observe 
the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  them.  At  the 
Bourse,  it  is  the  common  custom  for  brokers  to  walk 
about  as  they  converse,  so  that  everybody  who  is  in 
the  crowd  is  soon  seen  and  observed,  for  the  Bourse 
is  like  a  large  bouillotte  table,  where  the  skilful 
players  are  able  to  detect  a  man's  style  of  play  and 
the  condition  of  his  purse  from  his  face.  So  it  was 
that  everyone  had  noticed  Claparon's  face  and  Cas- 
tanier's.  The  latter,  like  the  Irishman,  was  nervous 
and  forceful,  his  eyes  shone,  his  complexion  was 
clear.  Everyone  had  been  amazed  at  that  majesti- 
cally terrible  countenance  and  had  wondered  where 
worthy  Castanier  had  obtained  it;  but  Castanier, 
stripped  of  his  power,  was  a  faded,  wrinkled,  feeble, 
prematurely  old  man.  When  he  led  Claparon  away, 
he  was  like  a  sick  man  in  an  attack  of  fever,  or  like 


MELMOTH   CONVERTED  97 

a  theriaki  in  the  momentary  exaltation  caused  by 
opium;  but,  when  he  returned,  he  was  in  the  state 
of  prostration  which  follows  fever  and  during  which 
sick  men  expire,  or  else  in  the  terrible  depression 
caused  by  excessive  indulgence  in  narcotics.  The 
demoniacal  spirit  that  had  enabled  him  to  endure  his 
wild  debauches  had  disappeared;  the  body  was  left 
alone,  exhausted,  without  support,  without  protec- 
tion against  the  assaults  of  remorse  and  the  weight 
of  true  repentance.  Claparon,  whose  mental  suffer- 
ing everyone  had  understood,  reappeared,  on  the 
contrary,  with  gleaming  eyes  and  the  pride  of  Luci- 
fer on  his  face.  Bankruptcy  had  passed  from  one 
face  to  the  other. 

"  Go  and  die  in  peace,  old  boy,"  said  Claparon  to 
Castanier. 

"  In  pity's  name,  send  for  a  carriage  for  me  and  a 
priest,  the  vicar  of  Saint-Sulpice!"  replied  the  ex- 
dragoon,  sitting  down  on  a  stone. 

The  words  "  a  priest"  were  overheard  by  several 
persons  and  aroused  a  sneering  murmur  from  the 
brokers,  a  class  of  men  whose  only  faith  consists  in 
the  belief  that  a  bit  of  paper  called  a  certificate  is 
worth  a  domain.  The  register  of  the  public  debt 
is  their  Bible. 

"Shall  I  have  time  to  repent?  "said  Castanier 
in  a  piteous  voice  that  made  a  deep  impression  on 
Claparon. 

A  cab  carried  away  the  moribund.  The  speculator 
went  at  once  to  pay  his  notes  at  the  Bank.  The 
impression  produced  by  the  sudden  change  of  face 
7 


98  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

between  the  two  men  faded  away  in  the  crowd  as 
the  wake  of  a  ship  fades  away  on  the  sea.  News 
of  the  utmost  importance  aroused  the  attention  of  the 
business  world.  At  that  hour,  when  every  selfish 
interest  is  at  stake,  Moses,  appearing  with  his  two 
luminous  horns,  would  hardly  obtain  the  honors  of  a 
pun,  and  would  be  denied  by  men  preparing  to  make 
reports.  When  Claparon  had  paid  his  notes,  he  was 
stricken  with  dread.  He  was  convinced  of  his 
power,  returned  to  the  Bourse,  and  offered  his  bar- 
gain to  other  embarrassed  traders.  "The  invest- 
ment in  the  consols  of  hell,  with  the  privileges 
attached  to  the  enjoyment  thereof,"  according  to  the 
expression  of  a  notary  whom  Claparon  made  his 
successor,  brought  seven  hundred  thousand  francs. 
The  notary  sold  the  treaty  with  the  devil  for  five 
hundred  thousand  to  a  building  contractor,  who  dis- 
posed of  it  for  three  hundred  thousand  to  an  iron- 
monger; and  he  passed  it  on  to  a  carpenter  for  two 
hundred  thousand.  At  last,  about  five  o'clock,  no 
one  believed  in  the  strange  contract,  and  purchasers 
were  shy  from  lack  of  faith. 

At  half-past  five,  the  owner  was  a  house-painter, 
who  was  standing  near  the  door  of  the  temporary 
Bourse,  then  located  on  Rue  Feydeau.  This  house- 
painter,  a  simple-minded  creature,  did  not  know 
what  he  had  within  him.  "  It  was  everything,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  when  he  went  home. 

Rue  Feydeau  is,  as  all  idlers  know,  one  of  those 
streets  beloved  of  young  men  who,  in  default  of  a 
mistress,  marry  the  whole  sex.  On  the  first  floor 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  99 

of  the  most  commonplace  and  respectable  of  houses, 
dwelt  one  of  those  ravishing  creatures  whom  Heaven 
delights  to  overburden  with  the  rarest  charms,  and 
who,  as  they  cannot  be  duchesses  or  queens,  because 
there  are  more  pretty  women  than  titles  or  thrones, 
content  themselves  with  a  banker  or  a  broker,  whom 
they  make  happy  at  a  stated  price.  This  excellent 
and  lovely  maiden,  called  Euphrasie,  was  the  object 
of  the  ambition  of  a  notary's  clerk  whose  ambition 
was  immeasurable.  In  truth,  this  second  clerk  of 
Maitre  Crottat,  notary,  was  in  love  with  that  woman 
as  young  men  are  wont  to  be  in  love  at  twenty-two. 
He  would  have  murdered  the  Pope  and  the  whole 
college  of  cardinals  to  procure  a  paltry  hundred  louis 
which  were  required  by  Euphrasie  for  the  purchase 
of  a  shawl  which  had  turned  her  head,  and  in  ex- 
change for  which  sum  her  maid  had  promised  her  to 
the  clerk.  The  lovelorn  youth  paced  back  and  forth 
in  front  of  Madame  Euphrasie's  windows,  like  the 
white  bears  in  their  cages  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
He  had  thrust  his  right  hand  under  his  waistcoat, 
over  his  left  breast,  and  was  trying  to  tear  out  his 
heart,  but  had  succeeded  only  in  twisting  the  elastics 
of  his  suspenders. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  get  ten  thousand  francs?"  he 
was  saying  to  himself.  "  Take  the  money  I  am  to 
carry  with  me  when  that  deed  is  registered?  Great 
God !  that  loan  won't  ruin  the  purchaser,  he's  a  mil- 
lionaire seven  times  over! — To-morrow  I  will  throw 
myself  at  his  feet,  and  say:  '  Monsieur,  I  have  taken 
ten  thousand  francs  of  yours,  I  am  twenty -two  years 


100  MELMOTH  CONVERTED 

old,  and  I  love  Euphrasie — that's  my  story.  My 
father  is  rich,  he  will  pay  you  the  money,  don't  ruin 
me!  Haven't  you  ever  been  twenty-two  years  old 
and  mad  with  love?'  But  these  miserly  landowners 
have  no  souls!  He's  quite  capable  of  turning  me 
over  to  the  king's  attorney  instead  of  being  touched. 
Sacredieu  I  if  one  could  only  sell  his  soul  to  the  devil ! 
But  there's  no  God  or  devil  either,  they're  all  fiddle- 
faddle,  you  never  hear  of  them  except  in  blue  books 
and  from  old  women.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"  If  you  choose  to  sell  your  soul  to  the  devil," 
said  the  house-painter,  who  had  overheard  some  of 
the  clerk's  words,  "you  will  have  ten  thousand 
francs." 

"Then  I  shall  have  Euphrasie,"  said  the  clerk, 
grasping  at  the  bargain  proposed  to  him  by  the  devil 
in  the  guise  of  a  house-painter. 

The  compact  consummated,  the  frantic  clerk  went 
and  bought  the  shawl,  rushed  up  to  Madame  Eu- 
phrasie's  apartment,  and,  as  he  had  the  devil  in 
him,  he  remained  there  twelve  days  without  once 
going  out,  squandering  all  his  paradise  there,  think- 
ing only  of  love  and  its  orgies,  in  which  the  memory 
of  hell  and  its  privileges  was  submerged. 

Thus  was  the  extraordinary  power  acquired  by  the 
discovery  of  the  Irishman,  the  offspring  of  the  rev- 
erend Mathurin,  destroyed. 

It  was  impossible  for  certain  orientalists,  mystics, 
and  archaeologists  interested  in  such  matters  to  de- 
cide upon  the  method  of  invoking  the  demon.  For 
this  reason: 


MELMOTH  CONVERTED  IOI 

On  the  thirteenth  day  of  his  insane  nuptials,  the 
poor  clerk  lay  on  his  pallet  in  an  attic  in  his  em- 
ployer's house  on  Rue  Saint- Honore.  Shame,  that 
stupid  goddess  who  dares  not  look  at  herself,  took 
possession  of  the  young  man,  who  fell  sick ;  he 
attempted  to  doctor  himself,  and  made  a  mistake  in 
the  dose  of  a  curative  drug  which  we  owe  to  the 
genius  of  a  man  well  known  on  the  walls  of  Paris. 
So  the  clerk  died  from  an  overdose  of  quicksilver, 
and  his  dead  body  turned  as  black  as  a  mole's  back. 
Some  devil  had  certainly  passed  that  way,  but  what 
one?  Was  it  Astaroth? 

"  This  estimable  young  man  has  been  taken  to 
the  planet  Mercury,"  said  the  chief  clerk  to  a 
German  demonologist  who  came  to  investigate  the 
affair. 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,"  said  the  German. 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  he  continued,  "that  opinion  ac- 
cords with  Jacob  Boehm's  own  words  in  his  forty- 
eighth  proposition  concerning  the  Threefold  Life  of 
Man,  wherein  it  is  said  that  'if  God  accomplishes 
all  things  by  his  FIAT,  the  FIAT  is  the  secret  matrix 
which  comprehends  and  grasps  the  nature  formed 
by  the  spirit  born  of  Mercury  and  God.'  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur?" 

The  German  repeated  his  citation. 

"  We  don't  understand,"  said  the  clerks. 

"  Fiat!  "  said  one  of  them,  "fiat  lux!  " 

"You  can  satisfy  yourselves  of  the  accuracy  of 
this  citation,"  said  the  German,  "by  reading  the 


102  MELMOTH   CONVERTED 

passage,  on  page  75,  of  the  Threefold  Life  of  Man, 
published  in  1809  by  Monsieur  Migneret,  and  trans- 
lated by  a  philosopher,  a  great  admirer  of  the  illus- 
trious cobbler." 

"Ah!  he  was  a  cobbler,  was  he?"  said  the  chief 
clerk.  "Think  of  that!" 

"  In  Prussia!"  replied  the  German. 

"  Did  he  work  for  the  king?"  asked  an  unlettered 
second  clerk. 

"  He  ought  to  have  put  patches  on  his  sentences," 
said  the  third  clerk. 

"That  man  is  pyramidal !"  cried  the  fourth  clerk, 
pointing  to  the  German. 

Although  he  was  a  demonologist  of  the  first  order, 
the  stranger  did  not  know  what  mischievous  devils 
clerks  are;  he  went  away,  not  understanding  their 
jests,  and  convinced  that  those  young  men  consid- 
ered Boehm  a  pyramidal  genius. 

"There  is  education  in  France,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

Paris,  May  6,  1835. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 


TO   THE    READER 

At  the  outset  of  the  author's  literary  life,  a  friend  long  since 
dead  suggested  to  him  the  subject  of  this  Study,  which  he 
subsequently  found  in  a  collection  of  stories  published  about 
the  beginning  of  this  century;  and,  according  to  his  conjec- 
ture, it  is  a  fantastic  creation  written  by  Hoffman,  of  Berlin, 
probably  published  in  some  German  almanac,  and  overlooked 
by  his  publishers  in  collecting  his  works.  The  HUMAN 
COMEDY  is  sufficiently  rich  in  original  inventions  for  the 
author  to  avow  an  innocent  plagiarism ;  like  honest  La  Fon- 
taine, he  has  treated  in  his  own  way,  and  unwittingly,  a  tale 
already  told.  This  was  not  one  of  the  varieties  of  humor 
fashionable  in  1830,  a  period  when  every  author  did  the  atro- 
cious to  amuse  young  girls.  When  you  reach  Don  Juan's 
refined  parricide,  try  to  guess  how,  under  almost  identical  cir- 
cumstances, the  honest  folk  would  behave,  who,  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  take  an  annuity  on  the  strength  of  a  chronic 
catarrh,  or  those  who  let  a  house  to  an  old  woman  for  the  rest 
of  her  days?  Would  they  try  to  bring  their  tenants  to  life?  I 
should  be  very  glad  if  sworn  weighers  of  consciences  would 
examine  the  question  of  what  similarity  there  can  possibly  be 
between  Don  Juan  and  those  fathers  who  give  their  children 
in  marriage  because  of  hopes.  Does  human  society,  which  is 
advancing  in  the  path  of  progress,  according  to  the  view  of 
some  philosophers,  consider  the  art  of  waiting  for  dead  men's 
shoes  a  step  in  the  right  direction  ?  That  art  has  given  birth 
to  honorable  professions,  by  means  of  which  men  live  on 
death.  It  is  the  business  of  certain  people  to  hope  for  some- 
body's death,  they  brood  over  it,  they  squat  on  a  dead  body 
every  morning  and  use  it  for  a  pillow  at  night :  they  are  the 
coadjutors,  the  cardinals,  the  supernumeraries,  tontine  holders, 
etc.  Add  to  these,  many  persons  of  delicate  sensibilities,  who 
(105) 


106  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

are  anxious  to  buy  an  estate  the  price  of  which  exceeds  their 
means,  but  who  coolly  and  logically  reckon  the  chances  of  life 
remaining  to  their  fathers,  mothers-in-law,  septuagenarians  or 
octogenarians,  saying:  "Within  three  years,  I  must  neces- 
sarily inherit,  and  then — "  A  murderer  disgusts  us  less  than 
a  spy.  The  murderer  may  have  yielded  to  an  impulse  of 
frenzy,  he  may  repent,  become  a  noble  man.  But  the  spy  is 
always  a  spy:  he  is  a  spy  at  table,  on  his  promenades,  in  bed, 
night  and  day;  he  is  vile  every  instant.  What  would  it  be, 
then,  to  be  a  murderer  as  vile  as  a  spy !  But  have  you  not  dis- 
covered, in  the  heart  of  our  society,  a  multitude  of  creatures  led 
by  our  laws,  by  our  morals,  by  our  customs,  to  think  inces- 
santly about  the  death  of  their  kindred,  to  long  for  it?  They 
consider  the  value  of  a  coffin  as  they  haggle  over  the  price  of 
shawls  for  their  wives,  as  they  ascend  the  staircase  at  the 
theatre,  as  they  think  longingly  of  the  Bouffons,  as  they  wish 
that  they  owned  a  carriage.  They  are  committing  murder  at 
the  very  moment  when  dear  little  creatures,  fascinating  in 
their  innocence,  offer  their  infantile  lips  to  be  kissed,  saying : 
"  Good-night,  father!  "  Every  hour  in  the  day  they  see  eyes 
that  they  would  like  to  close,  but  which  open  every  morning 
to  the  light,  like  Belvidero's  in  this  Study.  God  only  knows 
of  how  many  parricides  they  are  guilty  in  thought !  Imagine 
a  man  having  to  pay  an  annuity  of  three  thousand  francs  to 
an  old  woman,  and  both  of  them  living  in  the  country,  sepa- 
rated by  a  brook,  but  so  far  strangers  that  they  can  hate  each 
other  cordially  without  violating  those  social  proprieties  which 
place  a  mask  on  the  faces  of  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  has 
the  entail  and  the  other  a  second  son's  share.  All  European 
civilization  rests  upon  HEREDITY  as  upon  a  pivot,  it  would 
be  madness  to  suppress  it ;  but  might  we  not  try,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  machines  which  are  the  pride  of  our  age,  to  perfect 
that  all-important  mechanism? 

The  author's  purpose  in  retaining  the  old  formula,  To  the 
Reader,  at  the  head  of  a  work  in  which  he  aims  to  represent 
all  literary  forms,  is  to  place  herein  a  remark  relating  to  sev- 
eral of  his  Studies,  especially  to  this  one.  Each  one  of  his 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  107 

compositions  is  based  upon  ideas  more  or  less  new,  to  which 
it  seemed  to  him  that  it  might  be  well  to  give  expression ;  he 
may  insist  upon  the  priority  of  certain  forms  and  ideas  which 
have  since  passed  into  the  domain  of  literature  and  have,  in 
some  cases,  become  vulgarized  there.  The  date  of  the  origi- 
nal publication  of  each  Study  should  not  be  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  those  of  his  readers  who  wish  to  do  him  justice. 

Reading  gives  us  unknown  friends,  and  what  a  friend  is  a 
reader !  We  have  friends  whom  we  know  who  read  nothing 
that  we  write !  The  author  hopes  to  have  paid  his  debt  by 
dedicating  this  work  to  the  UNKNOWN  GODS. 

In  a  superb  palace  at  Ferrara,  on  a  winter  evening, 
Don  Juan  Belvidero  was  entertaining  a  prince  of  the 
House  of  Este.  At  that  period,  a  banquet  was  a 
marvellous  spectacle  which  only  royal  wealth  or  the 
power  of  a  great  nobleman  could  command.  Seated 
about  a  table  lighted  by  perfumed  candles,  seven 
hilarious  women  were  conversing  pleasantly,  amid 
beautiful  chefs-d'oeuvres  of  art  whose  white  marble 
stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  red  stucco  of  the 
walls  and  in  striking  contrast  to  the  rich  Turkish 
rugs.  Dressed  in  satin,  gleaming  with  gold  and 
laden  with  precious  stones  less  brilliant  than  their 
eyes,  one  and  all  were  telling  tales  of  violent  pas- 
sions, differing  as  widely  as  the  charms  of  the  nar- 
rators. But  they  differed  neither  in  words  nor 
gestures;  an  expression  of  the  eyes,  a  glance,  a  ges- 
ture or  two,  or  the  tone  of  voice,  served  as  commen- 
taries, lascivious,  riotous,  melancholy,  or  cunning, 
upon  their  words. 

One  seemed  to  say:  "My  beauty  is  of  the  sort 
that  warms  an  old  man's  frozen  heart." 


108  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

Another:  "  I  love  to  lie  on  cushions  and  think  with 
ecstasy  of  those  who  adore  me." 

A  third,  a  novice  at  such  functions,  was  inclined  to 
blush:  "  In  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  feel  remorse!" 
she  said.  "  I  am  a  Catholic,  and  I  am  afraid  of  hell. 
But  I  love  you  so  dearly,  oh!  so  dearly,  and  so 
dearly,  that  I  can  sacrifice  eternity  to  you." 

A  fourth,  emptying  a  cup  of  Chio  wine,  cried: 
"Vive  la  gaietel  I  begin  a  new  life  every  morning! 
Oblivious  of  the  past,  still  drunken  from  the  joys  of 
the  preceding  day,  every  night  I  exhaust  a  life  of 
happiness,  a  life  full  of  love!" 

The  woman  sitting  beside  Belvidero  gazed  at  him 
with  flashing  eyes.  She  was  silent.  "  I  would  not 
trust  to  hired  bravoes  to  kill  my  lover  if  he  abandoned 
me!"  Then  she  had  laughed;  but  her  hand  convul- 
sively crushed  a  sweetmeat-box  of  exquisitely  carved 
gold. 

"When  will  you  be  Grand  Duke?"  the  sixth 
woman  asked  the  prince,  with  an  expression  of 
murderous  joy  in  her  teeth,  and  the  delirium  of  wine 
in  her  eyes. 

"And  when  will  your  father  die?"  laughed  the 
seventh,  tossing  her  bouquet  to  Don  Juan  with  a 
gesture  intoxicating  in  its  wantonness.  She  was  an 
innocent  girl,  accustomed  to  make  sport  of  all  sacred 
things. 

"Oh!  do  not  speak  of  it!"  cried  the  young  and 
handsome  Don  Juan  Belvidero;  "there  is  but  one 
everlasting  father  in  the  world,  and  cruel  fate  de- 
creed that  I  should  have  him!" 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  109 

The  seven  courtesans  of  Ferrara,  Don  Juan's 
friends,  and  the  prince  himself  uttered  a  cry  of 
horror.  Two  hundred  years  later,  under  Louis  XV., 
people  of  refined  taste  would  have  laughed  at  that 
sally.  But  it  may  be  that,  at  the  beginning  of  a  de- 
bauch, their  minds  were  still  too  lucid.  Despite  the 
flame  of  the  candles,  the  outcry  of  the  passions,  the 
sight  of  gold  and  silver  vessels,  the  fumes  of  wine, 
despite  the  contemplation  of  the  most  ravishingly 
beautiful  women,  perhaps  there  still  survived,  in  the 
depths  of  their  hearts,  a  little  of  that  shamefaced  re- 
spect for  things  human  and  divine  which  struggles 
on  until  revelry  has  drowned  it  in  the  last  waves 
of  sparkling  wine.  Nevertheless,  the  flowers  were 
already  crushed,  eyes  were  beginning  to  glare  wildly, 
and  drunkenness  was  making  its  way,  as  Rabelais 
expresses  it,  even  to  the  sandals.  During  that 
momentary  pause,  a  door  opened;  and,  as  at  the 
feast  of  Belshazzar,  God  made  himself  manifest  in 
the  person  of  an  old  servant,  with  white  hair,  trem- 
bling footsteps,  and  wrinkled  brow;  he  entered  the 
room  with  melancholy  mien,  cast  a  withering  glance 
at  the  garlands,  the  silver-gilt  cups,  the  pyramids 
of  fruit,  the  splendor  of  the  banquet,  the  purple 
flush  upon  the  astonished  faces,  and  the  brilliant 
colors  of  the  cushions  crushed  by  the  white  arms 
of  women;  then  he  cast  a  pall  upon  the  riotous 
assemblage  by  uttering  in  a  hollow  voice  the  fateful 
words: 

"Signore,  your  father  is  dying!" 

Don  Juan  rose,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  to  his 


1 10  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

guests  which  might  be  translated:  "  Excuse  me,  this 
doesn't  happen  every  day." 

Does  not  a  father's  death  often  surprise  young 
people  amid  the  splendors  of  life,  amid  the  insane 
ideas  of  a  debauch?  Death  is'  as  abrupt  in  her 
caprices  as  a  courtesan  in  her  disdain,  but  more 
faithful — it  never  deceives  anyone. 

When  Don  Juan  had  closed  the  door  of  the  ban- 
quet-hall and  was  walking  along  a  cold,  unlighted 
corridor,  he  forced  himself  to  assume  a  theatrical 
expression  of  grief;  for,  reflecting  upon  his  role  of 
son,  he  had  cast  his  merriment  aside  with  his  nap- 
kin. The  night  was  very  dark.  The  silent  servant 
who  led  the  young  man  toward  the  mortuary  cham- 
ber lighted  his  master  but  dimly,  so  that  DEATH, 
seconded  by  the  cold,  the  silence,  the  darkness,  by 
the  reaction  after  drunkenness,  perhaps,  was  able  to 
insinuate  a  few  thoughts  into  that  rake's  mind;  he 
reviewed  his  past  life,  and  became  as  pensive  as  a 
man  under  indictment  on  his  way  to  the  courtroom. 

Bartholomeo  Belvidero,  Don  Juan's  father,  was  an 
old  man  of  ninety,  who  had  passed  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  in  active  commercial  pursuits.  Having 
often  travelled  in  the  talismanic  countries  of  the 
Orient,  he  had  amassed  immense  wealth  there  and 
had  acquired  knowledge  far  more  precious,  he  said, 
than  gold  and  diamonds,  for  which  he  cared  but  little. 
"  I  prefer  a  tooth  to  a  ruby,  and  power  to  learning!" 
he  would  sometimes  exclaim,  with  a  smile.  That 
excellent  father  loved  to  have  Don  Juan  tell  him  of 
some  youthful  escapade,  and  would  say  to  him,  with 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  III 

a  cunning  leer,  as  he  lavished  gold  upon  him:  "  My 
dear  child,  do  nothing  but  the  foolish  things  that 
amuse  you."  He  was  the  only  old  man  who  ever 
took  pleasure  in  looking  at  a  young  man;  paternal 
affection  enabled  him  to  forget  his  own  decay  by 
contemplating  such  lusty  life.  At  the  age  of  sixty, 
Belvidero  had  fallen  in  love  with  an  angel  of  peace 
and  beauty.  Don  Juan  was  the  only  fruit  of  that 
belated  and  ephemeral  passion.  For  fifteen  years 
the  goodman  had  bewailed  the  loss  of  his  dear 
Juana.  His  numerous  servants  and  his  son  attrib- 
uted to  his  sorrow  the  strange  habits  he  had  con- 
tracted. Taking  refuge  in  the  least  accessible  wing 
of  his  palace,  Bartholomeo  very  rarely  left  it,  and 
even  Don  Juan  could  not  gain  admission  to  his  father's 
apartments  without  having  first  obtained  leave.  If 
that  self-willed  anchorite  walked  about  the  palace  or 
in  the  streets  of  Ferrara,  he  seemed  to  be  seeking 
something  that  he  wanted;  he  walked  dreamily, 
with  indecision,  preoccupied  like  a  man  at  war  with 
an  idea  or  a  memory.  While  the  young  man  gave 
sumptuous  entertainments  and  the  palace  echoed 
with  the  outbursts  of  his  mirth,  while  horses  pawed 
the  earth  in  the  courtyard,  and  pages  quarrelled  over 
their  dice  on  the  steps,  Bartholomeo  ate  seven  ounces 
of  bread  per  day  and  drank  water.  If  he  asked  for 
a  little  chicken,  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the 
bones  to  a  black  spaniel,  his  faithful  companion.  He 
never  complained  of  the  noise.  When  he  was  ill, 
if  the  sound  of  the  horn  and  the  barking  of  dogs 
disturbed  his  sleep,  he  would  simply  say:  "Ah!  Don 


112  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

Juan  has  returned !"  Never  on  this  earth  was  so 
unobtrusive  and  indulgent  a  father  known;  and 
young  Belvidero,  being  accustomed  to  treat  him 
without  ceremony,  had  all  the  faults  of  spoiled 
children;  he  lived  with  Bartholomeo  as  a  capricious 
courtesan  lives  with  an  aged  lover,  obtaining  pardon 
for  an  impertinence  by  a  smile,  selling  her  good 
humor,  and  allowing  herself  to  be  loved. 

As  he  mentally  reconstructed  the  picture  of  his 
youthful  years,  Don  Juan  realized  that  it  would  be 
very  hard  to  find  a  flaw  in  his  father's  kindness. 
Listening  to  a  remorseful  feeling  that  sprang  to  life 
deep  down  in  his  heart,  as  he  walked  along  the 
corridor,  he  felt  that  he  was  almost  ready  to  forgive 
Belvidero  for  having  lived  so  long.  He  opened  his 
heart  to  sentiments  of  filial  affection,  as  a  thief  be- 
comes an  honest  man  by  virtue  of  the  prospective 
enjoyment  of  a  million,  safely  hidden  away.  Soon 
the  young  man  entered  the  bare,  high-studded  rooms 
that  composed  his  father's  suite.  Oppressed  by  the 
damp  atmosphere,  breathing  the  dense  air,  the  musty 
odor  exhaled  by  old  tapestries  and  dust-covered  cup- 
boards, he  found  himself  in  the  old  man's  old-fashioned 
bedroom,  beside  a  disgustingly  filthy  bed  and  a  dying 
fire.  A  lamp  that  stood  on  a  Gothic  table  cast,  at 
unequal  intervals,  a  flickering  light  of  varying  bril- 
liancy upon  the  bed,  and  thus  exhibited  the  old 
man's  face  in  constantly  changing  aspects.  The 
wind  whistled  through  the  rattling  window-frames, 
and  the  snow  beat  upon  the  panes  with  a  dull  sound. 
The  scene  presented  such  a  violent  contrast  to  that 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  113 

which  Don  Juan  had  just  left,  that  he  could  not  re- 
press a  sudden  start.  Then  he  turned  cold  when, 
on  drawing  near  the  bed,  a  sudden  flare  of  light, 
caused  by  a  gust  of  wind,  illumined  his  father's 
face:  the  features  were  distorted,  the  skin,  drawn 
tight  over  the  bones,  had  a  greenish  tinge,  which  the 
whiteness  of  the  pillow  on  which  the  old  man's  head 
lay  rendered  even  more  ghastly;  the  toothless  mouth, 
drawn  by  pain  and  partly  open,  emitted  an  occasional 
deep  sigh,  lugubrious  to  the  last  degree,  and  prolonged 
by  the  howling  of  the  gale.  Despite  those  indications 
of  dissolution,  an  indescribable  expression  of  power 
shone  upon  that  face.  A  powerful  mind  was  con- 
tending there  with  death.  The  eyes,  hollowed  by 
disease,  maintained  a  strange  fixity  of  expression. 
It  seemed  as  if  Bartholomeo  were  trying  to  slay, 
with  his  dying  glance,  an  enemy  seated  at  the  foot 
of  his  bed.  That  glance,  cold  and  unwavering,  was 
the  more  terrifying  to  behold,  in  that  the  head 
was  as  absolutely  motionless  as  a  skull  on  a  physi- 
cian's table.  The  body  and  the  limbs,  whose  out- 
lines could  be  followed  beneath  the  bedclothes,  were 
equally  rigid.  Everything  was  dead  except  the  eyes. 
There  was  something  mechanical  in  the  sounds  that 
issued  from  the  mouth. 

Don  Juan  was  somewhat  ashamed  to  appear  at 
his  dying  father's  bedside  with  a  courtesan's  bou- 
quet in  his  bosom  and  to  bring  thither  the  perfumes 
of  the  banquet  and  the  fumes  of  wine. 

"  You  were  enjoying  yourself !"  cried  the  old  man 
when  he  perceived  his  son. 
8 


114  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

At  the  same  moment,  the  clear,  pure  voice  of  a 
woman  singing  for  the  entertainment  of  the  guests, 
supported  by  the  chords  of  a  viol  upon  which  she 
accompanied  herself,  drowned  the  howling  of  the 
storm  and  penetrated  to  the  chamber  of  death.  Don 
Juan  tried  not  to  listen  to  that  brutal  confirmation  of 
his  father's  words. 

"  I  do  not  reproach  you,  my  child,"  said  Barthol- 
omeo. 

Those  gentle  words  stung  Don  Juan  to  the  quick; 
he  could  not  forgive  his  father  for  that  poignant 
kindness. 

"How  full  of  remorse  I  am,  father!"  he  said, 
hypocritically. 

"Poor  Juanino,"  replied  the  dying  man,  in  a 
hollow  voice,  "  I  have  always  been  so  indulgent 
to  you,  that  you  could  not  wish  for  my  death,  could 
you?" 

"  Oh!"  cried  Don  Juan,  "  if  only  it  were  possible 
to  restore  your  life  by  giving  up  a  part  of  my  own! — 
One  can  always  say  that  sort  of  thing  with  safety," 
thought  the  rake;  "  it's  as  if  I  should  offer  my  mis- 
tress the  whole  world !" 

He  had  hardly  completed  that  reflection  when  the 
old  spaniel  barked.  That  intelligent  voice  made 
Don  Juan  shudder,  he  believed  that  the  dog  had 
read  his  thoughts. 

"  I  was  sure  that  I  could  rely  upon  you,  my  son!" 
cried  the  moribund.  "  I  shall  live.  Your  wish  shall 
be  gratified,  I  say.  I  shall  live,  but  without  depriv- 
ing you  of  a  single  day  that  belongs  to  you." 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  11$ 

"  He  is  delirious,"  said  Don  Juan  to  himself. — 
"Yes,  my  dearest  father,"  he  added,  aloud,  "of  a 
certainty,  you  will  live  as  long  as  I  do,  for  your 
image  will  always  be  in  my  heart." 

"  I  am  not  referring  to  that  life,"  said  the  old 
nobleman,  collecting  his  strength  to  sit  up  in  bed, 
for  he  was  seized  by  one  of  those  suspicions  which 
are  born  only  beneath  the  pillows  of  dying  men. — 
"  Hark  ye,  my  son,"  he  continued,  in  a  voice  weak- 
ened by  this  last  effort,  "I  am  no  more  anxious  to 
die  than  you  are  to  do  without  mistresses,  wine, 
horses,  falcons,  dogs,  and  gold." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  thought  the  son,  kneel- 
ing at  the  bedside  and  kissing  one  of  Bartholomeo's 
cadaverous  hands. — "But,"  he  said,  aloud,  "we 
must  bow  to  God's  will,  my  dear  father." 

"I  am  God!"  mumbled  the  old  man. 

"Do  not  blaspheme!"  cried  the  youth,  when  he 
saw  the  menacing  expression  assumed  by  his  father's 
features.  "Beware  of  blaspheming,  for  you  have 
received  extreme  unction,  and  I  could  never  be  com- 
forted if  I  knew  that  you  had  died  in  a  state  of  sin." 

"Will  you  listen  to  me?"  cried  the  dying  man, 
gnashing  his  teeth. 

Don  Juan  held  his  peace.  A  ghastly  silence 
reigned  in  the  room.  Amid  the  dull  hissing  of  the 
snow,  the  strains  of  the  viol  and  the  lovely  voice 
still  reached  their  ears,  faint  as  the  first  glimmer  of 
dawn.  The  moribund  smiled. 

"  I  thank  you  for  inviting  singers,  for  bringing 
music  with  you!  A  banquet,  young  and  lovely 


Il6  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

women,  soft  and  white,  with  black  hair!  all  the 
pleasures  of  life.  Bid  them  remain,  I  am  about  to 
be  born  again." 

"  The  delirium  is  at  its  height,"  said  Don  Juan  to 
himself. 

"  I  have  discovered  a  means  of  renewing  life. 
Look  in  the  table-drawer,  you  can  open  it  by  press- 
ing a  spring  hidden  by  the  griffin." 

"I  have  it,  father." 

"  Very  well,  take  a  small  phial  of  rock-crystal." 

"  Here  it  is." 

"  I  have  spent  twenty  years — " 

At  that  moment,  the  old  man  felt  that  his  end  was 
approaching,  and  he  summoned  all  his  strength  to 
say: 

"As  soon  as  I  have  drawn  my  last  breath,  you 
will  rub  me  with  that  water  from  head  to  foot;  I 
shall  come  to  life  again." 

"There's  very  little  of  it,"  rejoined  the  young 
man. 

Although  Bartholomeo  could  no  longer  speak,  he 
was  still  able  to  see  and  hear;  at  those  words,  he 
turned  his  head  toward  Don  Juan  with  a  frightfully 
sudden  movement,  his  neck  remained  twisted  like 
that  of  a  statue  which  the  sculptor's  fancy  has  con- 
demned to  look  sidewise,  and  his  eyes  became  fixed 
in  a  hideous  stare.  He  was  dead,  dead  at  the 
moment  of  losing  his  last,  his  only  illusion.  Upon 
seeking  a  sure  refuge  in  his  son's  heart,  he  found 
there  a  grave  deeper  than  men  are  accustomed  to 
give  their  dead.  Hence  his  hair  stood  erect  in  horror, 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  1 17 

and  his  convulsive  glance  still  spoke.  He  was  a 
father  rising  in  a  frenzy  from  his  sepulchre  to  de- 
mand vengeance  at  the  hand  of  God. 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over  with  the  good  man  at  last!" 
cried  Don  Juan. 

In  his  haste  to  examine  the  mysterious  phial  by 
the  light  of  the  lamp,  as  a  toper  consults  his  bottle 
at  the  end  of  his  repast,  he  had  not  seen  his  father's 
eye  blanch.  The  panting  dog  looked  alternately  at 
his  dead  master  and  the  elixir,  just  as  Don  Juan 
looked  from  his  father  to  the  phial.  The  lamp  cast 
a  flickering  light.  The  silence  was  profound,  the 
viol  mute.  Belvidero  started,  fancying  that  he  saw 
his  father  move.  Terrified  by  the  rigid  expression 
of  the  accusing  eyes,  he  closed  them,  as  he  would 
have  closed  a  blind  that  was  banging  in  the  wind  on 
an  autumn  night.  He  stood  motionless  as  a  statue, 
lost  in  a  whole  world  of  reflections.  Suddenly  a 
shrill  sound  like  the  shriek  of  a  key  in  a  rusty  lock 
broke  the  silence.  Don  Juan,  in  his  surprise,  nearly 
dropped  the  phial.  A  sweat  colder  than  the  blade  of 
a  dagger  issued  from  every  pore.  A  painted  wooden 
cock  arose  above  a  clock  and  crowed  three  times. 
It  was  one  of  those  ingenious  pieces  of  mechanism 
by  whose  aid  the  scientists  of  that  day  were  awak- 
ened in  the  morning  at  the  hour  when  their  labors 
were  to  begin.  Already  the  first  flush  of  dawn  was 
reddening  the  window-panes.  Don  Juan  had  passed 
ten  hours  in  reflection.  The  old  clock  was  more 
faithful  in  its  service  than  he  was  in  performing  his 
duties  toward  Bartholomeo.  Its  mechanism  consisted 


Il8  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

of  wood,  pulleys,  cords,  and  wheels,  whereas  he  had 
the  mechanism  peculiar  to  man,  called  a  heart.  In 
order  to  avoid  further  risk  of  losing  the  mysterious 
liquid,  the  sceptical  Don  Juan  replaced  it  in  the 
drawer  of  the  little  Gothic  table.  At  that  solemn 
moment,  he  heard  an  uproar  in  the  corridors;  there 
were  confused  voices,  stifled  laughter,  light  steps, 
the  rustling  of  silk — in  a  word,  the  noise  of  a  joyous 
party  trying  to  find  its  way.  The  door  opened,  and 
the  prince,  Don  Juan's  friends,  the  seven  courtesans, 
and  the  musicians  appeared  in  the  doorway,  in  the 
fantastic  disorder  of  dancers  surprised  by  the  break 
of  day,  when  the  sun  is  contending  for  the  mastery 
with  the  paling  flames  of  the  candles.  They  all 
came  to  offer  the  young  heir  the  customary  con- 
dolences. 

"  Oho!  can  it  be  that  Don  Juan  takes  this  affair 
seriously?"  said  the  prince  in  La  Brambilla's  ear. 

"Why,  his  father  was  a  very  good  man,"  she 
replied. 

Meanwhile,  Don  Juan's  nocturnal  meditations  had 
imparted  to  his  features  an  expression  so  striking 
that  it  imposed  silence  on  the  party.  The  men 
stood  motionless.  The  women,  whose  lips  were 
parched  with  wine,  whose  cheeks  were  blotched  by 
kisses,  knelt  and  began  to  pray.  Don  Juan  could  not 
repress  a  shudder  as  he  saw  splendor,  joy,  laughter, 
singing,  youth,  beauty,  power,  the  whole  of  life  pros- 
trating itself  thus  in  the  presence  of  death.  But,  in 
that  adorable  Italy,  debauchery  and  religion  worked 
so  well  together  in  those  days,  that  religion  was  a 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  119 

debauch,  and  debauchery  a  religion !  The  prince 
warmly  pressed  Don  Juan's  hand ;  then,  every 
face  having  assumed  at  the  same  moment  an  iden- 
tical grimace,  expressive  of  sorrow  and  indifference 
in  equal  parts,  the  phantasmagoria  disappeared, 
leaving  the  room  empty.  It  was  a  faithful  image  of 
life! 

As  they  went  down  the  steps,  the  prince  said  to 
La  Rivabarella: 

"  Well,  well !  who'd  have  believed  that  Don  Juan 
would  be  such  an  impious  braggart?  He  loves  his 
father!" 

"  Did  you  notice  the  black  dog?"  asked  La  Bram- 
billa. 

"  Well,  he's  immensely  rich  now,"  observed  Bi- 
anca  Cavatolino,  with  a  sigh. 

"What  care  1!"  cried  the  proud  Veronese,  she 
who  had  crushed  the  sweetmeat-box. 

"What  care  you,  say  you?"  cried  the  duke. 
"With  his  ducats  he's  as  much  a  prince  as  I!" 

At  first,  Don  Juan,  swayed  by  a  multitude  of  con- 
flicting thoughts,  wavered  between  several  alterna- 
tives. Having  taken  counsel  of  the  treasure  amassed 
by  his  father,  he  returned  toward  evening  to  the 
death-chamber,  his  soul  heavy  with  revolting  selfish- 
ness. He  found  all  the  retainers  of  the  household 
engaged  in  putting  together  the  decorations  of  the 
bed  upon  which  the  late  monsignore  was  to  lie  in 
state  on  the  morrow  in  the  centre  of  a  superb  mortu- 
ary chamber — a  curious  spectacle,  which  all  Ferrara 
was  expected  to  see  and  admire.  Don  Juan  made 


120  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

a  gesture,  and  his  servants  paused  in  their  work, 
abashed  and  trembling. 

"Leave  me  here  alone,"  he  said  in  an  altered 
voice;  "  you  will  not  return  until  I  am  gone." 

When  the  footsteps  of  the  old  servant,  who  was 
the  last  to  go,  had  died  away  in  the  distance,  Don 
Juan  hurriedly  closed  and  locked  the  door,  and,  sure 
that  he  was  alone,  exclaimed  : 

"  Let  us  try!" 

Bartholomeo's  body  lay  upon  a  long  table.  To 
conceal  from  all  eyes  the  revolting  spectacle  of  a 
dead  body  which,  because  of  its  extreme  decrepitude 
and  gauntness,  resembled  a  skeleton,  the  embalmers 
had  spread  over  it  a  cloth  which  enveloped  it  com- 
pletely, except  the  head.  The  mummy-like  object 
lay  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  the  cloth,  naturally 
pliable,  marked  vaguely  the  rigid,  angular,  and  ema- 
ciated outlines  of  the  figure.  The  face  was  already 
marked  by  large  violet  blotches  which  indicated  the 
necessity  of  finishing  the  embalming  process.  Despite 
the  scepticism  with  which  he  was  armed,  Don  Juan 
trembled  as  he  uncorked  the  magic  phial.  When  he 
stood  beside  the  head,  he  was  obliged  to  wait  a 
moment,  he  trembled  so.  But  that  young  man  had 
been,  in  his  early  youth,  cunningly  corrupted  by  the 
morals  of  a  dissolute  court;  so  that  a  reflection 
worthy  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino  inspired  him  with  a 
courage  which  was  quickened  by  a  feeling  of  the 
keenest  curiosity;  indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  evil  one 
himself  had  whispered  to  him  these  words,  which 
echoed  in  his  heart:  Moisten  one  eye!  He  took  a 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  121 

piece  of  linen,  and,  after  moistening  it  sparingly  in 
the  precious  liquid,  he  touched  lightly  the  right  eyelid 
of  the  corpse.  The  eye  opened. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Don  Juan,  grasping  the  phial 
as,  in  a  dream,  we  grasp  the  branch  from  which  we 
are  suspended  over  a  precipice. 

He  saw  an  eye  sparkling  with  life,  a  child's  eye 
in  a  death's-head,  the  light  trembled  in  the  clear 
aqueous  fluid;  and,  sheltered  by  two  black  lashes,  it 
sparkled  like  the  solitary  lights  the  traveller  spies 
on  a  winter's  night  in  a  lonely  country-side.  That 
flashing  eye  seemed  to  long  to  spring  at  Don  Juan, 
and  it  thought,  spoke,  accused,  tried,  condemned, 
threatened ;  it  cried  aloud  and  bit.  All  the  human 
passions  were  astir  in  it.  There  were  the  most 
loving  entreaties,  a  kingly  wrath,  the  love  of  a 
maiden  craving  mercy  from  her  executioners;  and, 
lastly,  the  profound,  meaning  glance  which  a  man 
ascending  the  steps  leading  to  the  scaffold  casts  upon 
his  fellow-man.  Such  abundant  life  shone  in  that 
fragment  of  life  that  Don  Juan  recoiled  in  dismay; 
he  paced  back  and  forth,  afraid  to  look  at  that  eye, 
which  glared  at  him  from  the  floor,  from  the  hang- 
ings. The  room  was  studded  with  gleaming  points, 
full  of  fire,  life,  intelligence.  On  all  sides  were 
blazing  eyes  that  barked  at  his  heels. 

"  He  might  have  lived  another  hundred  years," 
he  exclaimed  involuntarily,  as  he  stood  gazing  at 
that  luminous  spark,  drawn  back  to  his  father's  side 
by  a  diabolical  influence. 

Suddenly  the   intelligent  eye  closed  and  opened 


122  THE   ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

again  rapidly,  like  the  eye  of  a  woman  who  con- 
sents. Had  a  voice  said:  "Yes!"  Don  Juan  would 
have  been  no  more  frightened. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  thought. 

He  mustered  courage  to  try  to  close  the  white  lid. 
His  efforts  were  unavailing. 

"  Shall  I  put  it  out?  Perhaps  that  would  be  parri- 
cide?" he  said  to  himself. 

"Yes,"  said  the  eye,  with  a  wink  of  ghastly 
irony. 

"Aha!"  cried  Don  Juan,  "there's  witchcraft  in 
it." 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  destroy  the  eye.  A  great 
tear  rolled  down  the  hollow  cheeks  of  the  corpse  and 
fell  upon  Belvidero's  hand. 

"It  is  burning  hot!"  he  cried,  throwing  himself 
upon  a  chair. 

The  struggle  had  fatigued  him  as  if,  like  Jacob,  he 
had  been  contending  against  an  angel. 

At  last,  he  rose,  saying: 

"  If  only  there  is  no  blood  !" 

Then,  summoning  all  the  courage  that  one  requires 
to  do  a  cowardly  deed,  he  destroyed  the  eye,  forcing 
it  out  with  a  cloth,  but  without  looking  at  it.  An  un- 
expected but  heart-rending  groan  startled  him.  The 
poor  spaniel  expired  howling. 

"Can  he  be  in  the  secret?"  said  Don  Juan  to 
himself,  gazing  at  the  faithful  animal. 

Don  Juan  Belvidero  was  esteemed  a  dutiful  son. 
He  erected  a  monument  of  white  marble  on  his 
father's  tomb,  and  entrusted  the  execution  of  the 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  123 

figures  to  the  most  famous  artists  of  the  time.  He 
was  not  perfectly  at  ease  on  the  day  when  the 
statue  of  his  father  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  Religion 
imposed  its  enormous  weight  upon  the  grave  at  the 
bottom  of  which  he  buried  the  only  feeling  of  re- 
morse that  had  ever  touched  his  heart  in  moments 
of  physical  weariness.  By  dint  of  gloating  over  the 
vast  wealth  amassed  by  the  old  merchant,  Don  Juan 
became  miserly:  had  he  not  two  lives  to  provide 
with  money?  His  profoundly  searching  glance 
penetrated  to  the  basic  principle  of  social  life,  and 
embraced  the  world  the  more  effectively  because  he 
viewed  it  through  a  tomb.  He  analyzed  men  and 
things  in  order  to  be  done  once  and  for  all  with  the 
past,  represented  by  history;  with  the  present, 
represented  by  the  law;  with  the  future,  revealed 
by  religion.  He  took  the  soul  and  matter,  threw 
them  into  a  crucible,  found  nothing,  and  thereupon 
became  DON  JUAN  ! 

Master  of  life's  illusions,  he  plunged  headlong, 
young  and  handsome  as  he  was,  into  life,  despising 
the  world,  but  taking  possession  of  the  world.  His 
happiness  could  not  be  the  bourgeoise  felicity  that 
feeds  upon  a  dish  of  boiled  beef  at  stated  intervals, 
a  comfortable  warming-pan  in  winter,  a  lamp  for  the 
evening,  and  new  slippers  every  quarter.  No;  he 
seized  upon  existence  as  a  monkey  seizes  a  nut, 
and,  without  being  entertained  for  long,  he  skilfully 
peeled  off  the  vulgar  envelopes  of  the  fruit  to  relish 
the  savory  pulp.  Poetry  and  the  sublime  transports 
of  human  passion  no  longer  appealed  to  him.  He 


124  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

did  not  commit  the  error  of  those  strong  men  who, 
fancying  sometimes  that  small  minds  believe  in 
great  ones,  think  of  exchanging  lofty  thoughts  of 
the  future  for  the  small  change  of  our  ephemeral 
ideas.  He  might,  like  them,  have  walked  with  his 
feet  on  the  earth  and  his  head  in  the  clouds;  but  he 
preferred  to  sit  and  dry  with  his  kisses  the  lips  of 
more  than  one  loving,  lovely,  and  perfumed  woman; 
for,  like  Death,  wherever  he  went  he  devoured 
everything  without  shame,  desiring  the  love  of  ab- 
solute possession,  an  oriental  love,  long-enduring, 
unresisting  pleasure.  Loving  woman  only  in  women, 
he  made  irony  the  natural  bent  of  his  mind.  When 
his  mistresses  made  use  of  a  bed  to  ascend  to  the 
skies  where  they  proposed  to  lose  themselves  in 
the  embrace  of  intoxicating  bliss,  Don  Juan  would  ac- 
company them,  grave,  unreserved,  and  as  sincere  as 
ever  German  student  could  be.  But  he  said  /,  when 
his  mistress,  in  a  frenzy  of  passion,  said  WE.  He 
was  admirably  skilled  in  the  art  of  allowing  him- 
self to  be  drawn  on  by  a  woman.  He  was  always 
able  to  make  her  believe  that  he  was  trembling  like 
a  young  collegian  who  says  to  his  first  partner  at  a 
ball:  "  Do  you  like  dancing?"  But  he  also  knew 
how  to  roar  on  occasion,  to  draw  his  mighty  sword, 
and  crush  the  commanders.  There  was  mockery 
in  his  simplicity  and  laughter  in  his  tears,  for  he 
could  always  weep  as  a  woman  weeps  when  she 
says  to  her  husband:  "  Give  me  a  carriage,  or  I  shall 
die  of  consumption." — In  the  eyes  of  merchants,  the 
world  is  a  bale  of  merchandise  or  a  package  of  notes 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  125 

in  circulation;  to  most  young  men  it  is  a  woman;  to 
some  women  it  is  a  man;  to  certain  minds  it  is  a 
salon,  a  club,  a  quarter,  a  city;  in  Don  Juan's  eyes, 
the  world  was  himself !  A  model  of  charming  and 
noble  manners,  of  fascinating  wit,  he  moored  his  boat 
to  every  shore;  but,  while  inviting  guidance,  he  went 
only  where  he  wished  to  be  guided.  The  more  he 
saw,  the  more  he  doubted.  By  scrutinizing  men,  he 
often  divined  that  courage  was  rashness;  prudence, 
poltroonery;  generosity,  cunning;  justice,  a  crime; 
delicacy  of  feeling,  mere  folly;  probity,  a  matter  of 
temperament ;  and,  by  a  strange  fatality,  he  dis- 
covered that  those  persons  who  were  really  up- 
right, refined,  just,  generous,  prudent  and  brave, 
obtained  no  consideration  among  men. 

"  What  sardonic  jesting!"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  It  does  not  come  from  a  God." 

And  thereupon,  renouncing  the  idea  of  a  better 
world,  he  did  not  bare  his  head  at  the  mention  of 
a  name,  and  looked  upon  the  stone  saints  in  the 
churches  simply  as  works  of  art.  Moreover,  being 
familiar  with  the  machinery  of  human  society,  he 
never  jostled  prejudices  too  rudely,  because  he  was 
not  so  powerful  as  the  executioner;  but  he  circum- 
vented social  laws  with  the  grace  and  wit  so  well 
depicted  in  his  scene  with  Monsieur  Dimanche.  He 
was,  in  truth,  the  perfect  type  of  Moliere's  Don  Juan, 
of  Goethe's  Faust,  of  Byron's  Manfred,  and  of  Matu- 
rin's  Melmoth.  Colossal  images  drawn  by  the  most 
colossal  geniuses  of  Europe,  which,  perhaps,  Mozart's 
strains  will  no  more  fail  to  illustrate  than  Rossini's 


126  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

lyre!  Terrifying  images,  which  the  principle  of  evil, 
existing  in  man,  makes  eternal,  and  of  which  some 
copies  are  found  in  every  age:  entering  into  a  parley 
with  mankind,  it  may  be,  as  in  the  case  of  Mirabeau; 
or  content  to  act  in  silence,  like  Bonaparte;  or  to 
compress  the  whole  world  into  an  ironical  phrase, 
like  the  divine  Rabelais;  or  laughing  at  persons 
instead  of  insulting  things,  like  the  Marechal  de 
Richelieu;  or,  better  still,  making  sport  of  men  and 
things  at  the  same  time,  like  the  most  famous  of  our 
ambassadors.  But  the  profound  genius  of  Don  Juan 
Belvidero  was  a  summing  up,  by  anticipation,  of  all 
those  geniuses.  He  mocked  at  everything.  His  life 
was  one  long  mockery,  which  embraced  men,  things, 
institutions,  ideas.  As  for  eternity,  he  had  talked 
confidentially  for  half  an  hour  with  Pope  Julius  II., 
and  at  the  close  of  the  conversation  he  said  to  him, 
with  a  laugh: 

"If  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  choose,  I  prefer 
to  believe  in  God  rather  than  in  the  devil ;  power 
united  to  goodness  always  presents  more  resources 
than  the  genius  of  evil  can  command." 

"  True,  but  it  is  God's  will  that  we  do  penance  in 
this  world — " 

"  So  you  still  believe  in  your  indulgences?"  replied 
Belvidero.  "Very  well,  I  have  a  whole  existence 
in  reserve  to  do  penance  for  the  sins  of  my  first 
life." 

"Oh!  if  that  is  your  understanding  of  old  age," 
cried  the  Pope,  "  you  are  in  danger  of  being  canon- 
ized." 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  127 

"After  your  elevation  to  the  papacy,  one  can  be- 
lieve anything." 

And  they  went  to  watch  the  workmen  engaged  in 
building  the  immense  basilica  consecrated  to  Saint 
Peter. 

"Saint  Peter  is  the  man  of  genius  who  gave  us 
our  twofold  power,"  said  the  Pope  to  Don  Juan,  "he 
deserves  the  monument.  But  sometimes,  at  night, 
I  think  that  a  deluge  will  pass  a  sponge  over  it  and 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  begin  anew." 

Don  Juan  and  the  Pope  laughed  heartily,  they  had 
understood  each  other.  A  fool  would  have  gone  the 
next  day  to  seek  recreation  with  Julius  II.  at  Ra- 
phael's house,  or  at  the  lovely  Villa  Madama;  but 
Belvidero  went  to  see  him  officiate  as  pontiff,  in 
order  to  be  relieved  of  his  doubts.  In  a  debauch, 
Rovere  might  have  belied  his  sacred  character  and 
commented  on  the  Apocalypse. 

However,  this  legend  was  not  undertaken  to  fur- 
nish material  for  those  who  may  wish  to  write  me- 
moirs of  Don  Juan's  life;  its  purpose  is  to  prove  to 
honest  persons  that  Belvidero  did  not  die  in  his  duel 
with  a  stone,  as  some  lithographers  would  have  us 
believe. 

When  Don  Juan  Belvidero  reached  the  age  of 
sixty,  he  settled  in  Spain.  There,  in  his  old  age,  he 
married  a  young  and  enchanting  Andalusian.  But, 
by  design,  he  was  neither  a  good  father  nor  a  good 
husband.  He  had  noticed  that  we  are  never  so 
fondly  loved  as  by  the  women  for  whom  we  care  but 
little.  Donna  Elvire,  who  had  been  piously  reared 


128  THE   ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

by  an  old  aunt  in  the  depths  of  Andalusia,  in  a 
chateau  a  few  leagues  from  San-Lucar,  was  all  de- 
votion and  all  charm.  Don  Juan  rightly  guessed  that 
she  was  a  woman  who  would  fight  long  against  a 
passion  before  yielding  to  it,  so  he  hoped  to  keep  her 
virtuous  until  his  death.  It  was  a  serious  jest,  a 
game  of  chess  which  he  proposed  to  play  during  his 
declining  days.  Strong  in  his  knowledge  of  all  the 
mistakes  made  by  his  father  Bartholomeo,  Don  Juan 
determined  to  make  the  most  trivial  acts  of  his  old 
age  assist  in  the  success  of  the  drama  that  was  to  be 
enacted  beside  his  death-bed.  For  instance,  the 
greater  part  of  his  wealth  was  buried  in  the  vaults 
of  his  palace  at  Ferrara,  where  he  went  but  rarely. 
As  for  the  other  half  of  his  fortune,  it  was  invested 
in  an  annuity,  in  order  that  both  his  wife  and  his 
children  should  be  interested  in  the  prolongation  of 
his  life,  a  species  of  trickery  which  his  father  would 
have  done  well  to  practise;  but  that  species  of 
machiavelianism  was  not  very  necessary  to  him. 
Young  Philippe  Belvidero,  his  son,  grew  to  be  a 
Spaniard  as  conscientiously  religious  as  his  father 
was  impious,  by  virtue,  perhaps,  of  the  proverb: 
Miserly  father,  prodigal  son. 

The  abbe  of  San-Lucar  was  chosen  by  Don  Juan 
to  guide  the  consciences  of  the  Duchess  of  Belvidero 
and  Philippe.  That  ecclesiastic  was  a  saintly  man, 
of  fine  figure,  admirably  well-proportioned,  with 
handsome  black  eyes,  a  head  worthy  of  Tiberius, 
emaciated  by  fasting,  pale  from  macerations,  and 
beset  by  temptation  day  after  day,  as  all  recluses 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  129 

are.  The  old  nobleman  hoped,  perhaps,  that  he 
might  be  able  to  kill  a  monk  before  the  end  of  his 
first  lease  of  life.  But,  whether  it  was  that  the 
abbe  was  as  strong  as  Don  Juan  himself,  or  that 
Donna  Elvire  had  more  prudence  or  more  virtue 
than  Spain  attributes  to  woman,  Don  Juan  was 
constrained  to  pass  his  last  days  like  an  old  country 
curate,  without  scandal,  at  his  own  fireside.  Some- 
times he  seemed  to  enjoy  finding  his  wife  or  his  son 
at  fault  in  respect  to  their  religious  duties,  and  im- 
periously demanded  that  they  execute  all  the  obliga- 
tions imposed  on  the  faithful  by  the  court  of  Rome. 
Indeed,  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was 
listening  to  the  gallant  abbe  of  San  Lucar,  Donna 
Elvire,  and  Philippe  discussing  a  case  of  conscience. 
Meanwhile,  notwithstanding  the  prodigious  care  that 
Don  Juan  de  Belvidero  bestowed  on  his  person,  the 
days  of  decrepitude  arrived;  with  that  period  of  dis- 
tress came  the  outcries  of  impotence,  outcries  more 
heart-rending  in  proportion  to  his  pride  in  the  mem- 
ories of  his  effervescent  youth  and  voluptuous  ma- 
turity. That  man,  in  whose  mind  the  climax  of 
mockery  consisted  in  persuading  others  to  believe  in 
the  laws  and  principles  of  which  he  made  sport,  fell 
asleep  at  night  upon  a  perhaps!  That  model  of  good 
taste,  that  duke,  of  matchless  vigor  in  a  debauch, 
magnificent  at  courts,  charming  in  his  manner  to 
women  whose  hearts  he  had  twisted  as  the  peasant 
twists  an  osier  band,  that  man  of  genius  was  afflicted 
by  an  obstinate  catarrh,  pitiless  sciatica,  brutal  gout. 
He  watched  his  teeth  leaving  him,  as  the  fairest  and 
9 


130  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

most  beautifully  dressed  women  go  away,  one  by 
one,  at  the  end  of  a  party,  leaving  the  salon  deserted 
and  bare.  His  bold  hands  trembled,  his  slim  legs 
tottered,  and  one  evening  apoplexy  grasped  his  neck 
with  its  ice-cold,  hooked  fingers.  After  that  fatal 
day,  he  became  morose  and  stern.  He  slandered 
the  devotion  of  his  son  and  wife,  declaring  at  times 
that  their  delicate  and  touching  attentions  were  lav- 
ished upon  him  with  such  a  show  of  affection  only 
because  he  had  invested  his  whole  fortune  in  an 
annuity.  At  such  times,  Elvire  and  Philippe  would 
shed  bitter  tears  and  redouble  their  caresses,  where- 
upon the  old  man's  cracked  voice  would  assume  an 
affectionate  tone  as  he  said  to  them: 

"My  friends,  my  dear  wife,  you  will  forgive  me, 
»won't  you?  I  torment  you  a  little.  Alas!  O  God, 
why  dost  Thou  make  use  of  me  to  test  the  virtues  of 
these  two  heavenly  creatures?  I,  who  should  be 
their  joy,  am  a  scourge  to  them." 

In  that  way  he  chained  them  to  his  pillow,  making 
them  forget  whole  months  of  testiness  and  cruelty 
by  a  single  hour  in  which  he  displayed  the  ever- 
new  treasures  of  his  fascinating  manners  and  of 
a  pretended  affection.  A  paternal  system  which 
succeeded  infinitely  better  than  that  which  his  father 
had  formerly  adopted  toward  him.  At  last  his  ill- 
ness reached  such  a  dangerous  stage  that  it  was  nec- 
essary to  put  him  to  bed,  and  to  that  end  to  handle 
him  as  carefully  as  a  felucca  entering  a  dangerous 
strait.  At  last  came  the  day  of  his  death.  That 
sceptical,  brilliant  creature,  whose  understanding 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  131 

alone  survived  the  most  horrible  of  all  forms  of 
decay,  found  himself  between  a  physician  and  a 
confessor,  his  two  antipathies.  But  he  was  jovial 
with  them.  Was  there  not  a  light  shining  for  him 
behind  the  veil  of  the  future?  Upon  that  veil,  made 
of  lead  for  other  people,  but  transparent  for  him, 
the  lightsome,  ravishing  joys  of  youth  frisked  about 
like  ghosts. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  evening  when  Don  Juan 
became  conscious  of  the  approach  of  death.  The 
Spanish  sky  was  wonderfully  clear,  the  orange- 
trees  filled  the  air  with  perfume,  the  stars  shone 
with  a  bright,  white  light,  nature  seemed  to  offer 
him  absolute  pledges  of  his  resurrection,  a  pious 
and  obedient  son  stood  gazing  at  him  with  love  and 
respect.  About  eleven  o'clock,  he  requested  to  be' 
left  alone  with  that  innocent  creature. 

"  Philippe,"  he  said  to  him  in  such  a  kind,  affec- 
tionate voice  that  the  young  man  started  and  wept 
with  pleasure;  never  had  that  inflexible  father  uttered 
the  word  Philippe  in  such  a  tone.  "Listen  to  me, 
my  son,"  continued  the  moribund.  "  I  am  a  great 
sinner.  That  is  why  I  have  thought  constantly  of 
death  throughout  my  life.  Long  ago  I  was  a  friend 
of  the  great  Pope  Julius  II.  That  illustrious  pontiff 
feared  that  the  excessive  irritation  of  my  passions 
might  lead  me  to  commit  some  mortal  sin  between 
the  moment  of  my  death  and  the  administering  of  the 
consecrated  oils:  he  gave  me  a  phial  containing  some 
of  the  holy  water  that  gushed  from  the  rocks  in  the 
desert.  I  have  kept  the  secret  of  that  encroachment 


132  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

upon  the  treasure  of  the  Church,  but  I  am  author- 
ized to  disclose  it  to  my  son  in  articulo  mortis.  You 
will  find  the  phial  in  the  drawer  of  this  Gothic  table 
which  has  always  stood  beside  my  pillow.  The 
priceless  vessel  may  be  of  service  to  you  also,  my 
beloved  Philippe.  Swear  to  me,  by  your  everlast- 
ing salvation,  that  you  will  faithfully  execute  my 
orders." 

Philippe  looked  at  his  father.  Don  Juan  was  too 
keen  a  judge  of  the  expression  of  human  sentiments 
upon  the  features  not  to  be  able  to  die  in  peace  on 
the  faith  of  such  a  look,  even  as  his  father  had  died 
in  despair  on  the  faith  of  his. 

"  You  deserved  a  better  father,"  continued  Don 
Juan.  "  I  venture  to  confess,  my  child,  that  at 
the  moment  when  the  excellent  abbe  of  San-Lucar 
administered  the  viaticum  to  me,  I  was  thinking  of 
the  incompatibility  of  two  powers  so  extensive  as 
those  of  God  and  the  devil." 

"  Oh!  father!" 

"  And  I  said  to  myself  that,  when  Satan  makes 
his  peace,  he  ought,  under  pain  of  being  considered 
a  miserable  wretch,  to  stipulate  for  the  pardon  of  his 
adherents.  That  thought  haunts  me.  So  I  should 
go  to  hell,  my  son,  if  you  should  not  fulfil  my 
desires.'*' 

"Oh!  father,  tell  me  them  quickly!" 

"As  soon  as  I  have  closed  my  eyes,"  rejoined 
Don  Juan,  "  after  two  or  three  minutes,  perhaps, 
you  will  take  my  body,  while  it  is  still  warm,  and 
lay  it  on  a  table  in  the  centre  of  this  room.  Then 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  133 

you  will  extinguish  the  lamp;  the  light  of  the  stars 
will  be  sufficient  for  you.  You  will  remove  my 
clothes;  and  while  you  recite  Paters  and  Aves,  thus 
lifting  up  your  soul  to  God,  you  will  carefully  anoint 
with  that  holy  water  my  eyes,  my  lips,  and  my 
whole  head  first,  then  the  body  and  the  limbs  in 
succession;  but  God's  power  is  so  great,  my  son, 
that  you  must  not  be  astonished  at  anything  you 
may  see!" 

With  that,  Don  Juan,  feeling  that  death  was  at 
hand,  added,  in  an  awful  voice: 

"Hold  fast  the  phial!" 

Then  he  quietly  breathed  his  last  in  the  arms  of 
his  son,  whose  tears  flowed  abundantly  upon  his 
livid,  sneering  face. 

It  was  about  midnight  when  Don  Philippe  Belvi- 
dero  placed  his  father's  body  on  the  table.  Having 
kissed  the  scowling  brow  and  the  gray  hair,  he  extin- 
guished the  lamp.  The  soft  light  of  the  moon,  whose 
fantastic  reflections  illumined  the  fields,  enabled  the 
pious  Philippe  to  see  his  father's  body  indistinctly, 
like  a  white  form  amid  the  shadows.  The  young 
man  soaked  a  cloth  in  the  liquid,  and  faithfully 
anointed  that  sacred  head,  praying  fervently  the 
while.  He  heard  a  mysterious  shivering,  but  attrib- 
uted it  to  the  breeze  playing  among  the  tree-tops. 
When  he  had  moistened  the  right  arm,  he  felt  the 
strong  embrace  of  a  powerful,  youthful  arm  about 
his  neck:  his  father's  arm!  He  uttered  a  heart- 
rending shriek  and  dropped  the  phial,  which  was 
broken  in  a  thousand  pieces.  The  liquid  evaporated. 


134  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

The  servants  of  the  chateau  hurried  to  the  spot, 
armed  with  torches.  That  shriek  had  surprised  and 
terrified  them  as  if  the  last  trump  had  shaken  the 
world  to  its  foundation.  In  a  moment,  the  room  was 
filled  with  people.  The  trembling  crowd  saw  Don 
Philippe  unconscious,  but  held  fast  in  the  grasp  of 
his  father's  strong  arm,  which  was  thrown  around 
his  neck.  And  then — a  supernatural  thing! — they 
saw  Don  Juan's  face,  as  youthful  and  beautiful  as 
the  face  of  Antinous;  a  face  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  bright  red  lips,  surrounded  by  jet-black  hair,  and 
moving  about  in  a  way  that  was  horrible  to  contem- 
plate, with  no  power  to  move  the  skeleton  to  which 
it  belonged. 

"  Miracle!"  cried  an  old  servant. 

And  all  the  Spaniards  repeated: 

"Miracle!" 

Too  devout  to  admit  the  possibility  of  magic, 
Donna  Elvire  sent  for  the  abbe  of  San-Lucar. 
When  the  priest  saw  the  miracle  with  his  own  eyes, 
he  determined  to  make  the  most  of  it,  like  a  shrewd 
man  and  an  abbe  who  asked  nothing  better  than  to 
add  to  his  income.  Declaring  at  once  that  Don  Juan 
would  infallibly  be  canonized,  he  appointed  the  cere- 
mony of  the  apotheosis  to  take  place  in  his  convent, 
which  should  thenceforth  be  called,  he  said,  San-Juan 
de  Lucar.  At  those  words,  the  face  made  a  facetious 
grimace. 

The  liking  of  the  Spaniards  for  solemn  functions 
of  that  sort  is  so  well  known  that  it  should  not  be 
difficult  to  conceive  the  religious  enchantments 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  135 

whereby  the  abbey  of  San-Lucar  celebrated  the 
translation  of  the  blessed  Don  Juan  Bel-videro  in  its 
church.  A  few  days  after  that  illustrious  noble- 
man's decease,  the  miracle  of  his  partial  resurrection 
was  so  widely  known  within  a  radius  of  fifty  leagues 
of  San-Lucar  that  it  was  like  a  comedy  to  see  the 
sightseers  on  the  roads;  they  came  from  all  direc- 
tions, attracted  by  a  Te  Deum  sung  by  torchlight. 
The  ancient  mosque  of  the  convent  of  San-Lucar,  a 
marvellous  edifice  built  by  the  Moors,  whose  arches 
had  heard  for  three  centuries  past  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ  substituted  for  that  of  Allah,  was  too  small 
to  contain  the  multitude  assembled  to  witness  the 
ceremony.  Crowded  together  like  ants,  hidalgos  in 
velvet  cloaks  and  armed  with  their  good  swords, 
stood  around  the  pillars,  unable  to  find  room  to  bend 
their  knees,  which  bent  nowhere  else.  Lovely  peas- 
ant-women, whose  basquines  outlined  voluptuous 
forms,  supported  white-haired  old  men.  Young  men 
with  eyes  that  flashed  fire  found  themselves  beside 
bedizened  old  women.  Then  there  were  couples 
trembling  with  joy,  inquisitive  fiancees  escorted  by 
their  swains;  bridegrooms  a  day  old;  children  timidly 
holding  one  another  by  the  hand.  That  vast  multi- 
tude, gay  with  bright  colors,  brilliant  with  contrasts, 
bedecked  with  flowers  and  jewels,  made  a  not  un- 
pleasant uproar  in  the  silence  of  the  night.  The 
great  doors  of  the  church  were  thrown  open.  Those 
who  had  arrived  too  late  and  were  obliged  to  remain 
outside,  saw  from  afar,  through  the  three  open  por- 
tals, a  scene  of  which  the  airy  scenery  of  our  modern 


136  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

operas  would  afford  but  a  feeble  conception.  Zealots 
and  sinners,  eager  to  earn  the  good  graces  of  a  new 
saint,  lighted  in  his  honor  in  that  vast  church  myriads 
of  tapers,  a  selfish  illumination  which  imparted  a 
magically  beautiful  aspect  to  the  edifice.  The  dark 
arches,  the  pillars  and  their  capitals,  the  deep 
chapels  gleaming  with  gold  and  silver,  the  galleries, 
the  Saracenic  ornamentation,  the  most  delicate  fea- 
tures of  that  delicate  carving,  stood  clearly  forth  in 
that  flood  of  light,  like  the  fanciful  figures  that  form 
in  a  red-hot  brazier.  It  was  an  ocean  of  gleaming 
lights,  dominated  by  the  gilded  choir  at  the  rear  of 
the  church,  where  rose  the  main  altar,  whose  splen- 
dor rivalled  that  of  the  rising  sun.  But  the  splendor 
of  golden  lamps,  of  silver  candelabra,  of  banners, 
tassels,  saints,  and  ex-votos,  paled  before  the  shrine 
on  which  Don  Juan  lay.  The  scoffer's  body  gleamed 
with  jewels,  flowers,  crystals,  diamonds,  gold,  and 
plumes  as  white  as  a  seraph's  wings,  and  took  the 
place  of  a  picture  of  the  Christ  over  the  altar. 
Around  it  blazed  innumerable  candles  which  filled 
the  air  with  waves  of  flame.  The  worthy  abbe  of 
San-Lucar,  arrayed  in  his  pontifical  vestments,  armed 
with  his  mitre,  studded  with  precious  stones,  his 
lawn-sleeves,  his  golden  crucifix,  was  seated,  king  of 
the  choir,  in  an  armchair  of  imperial  magnificence,  in 
the  midst  of  all  his  clergy, — impassive  old  men  with 
silvery  hair,  clad  in  rich  albs, — who  surrounded  him 
like  the  saints  whom  painters  represent  as  grouped 
around  the  Almighty.  The  precentor  and  the  dig- 
nitaries of  the  Chapter,  decorated  with  the  gorgeous 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  137 

insignia  of  their  ecclesiastical  vanities,  went  and 
came  in  the  clouds  formed  by  the  incense,  like  stars 
gliding  through  the  firmament.  When  the  triumphal 
hour  was  at  hand,  the  bells  woke  the  echoes  of  the 
country-side,  and  that  vast  throng  breathed  upward 
to  God  the  first  outcry  of  praise  with  which  the  Te 
Deum  begins.  Sublime  outcry!  There  were  pure, 
clear  voices,  women's  voices,  blended  in  ecstasy 
with  the  grave,  powerful  voices  of  men,  thousands  of 
voices  united  in  such  a  mighty  wave  of  sound,  that 
the  organ  failed  to  soar  above  it,  despite  the  roaring 
of  its  pipes.  Only  the  shrill  notes  of  the  youthful 
voices  of  the  choir-boys  and  the  full  tones  of  a  few 
tenors  evoked  pleasing  images,  depicted  infancy  and 
strength,  in  that  ravishing  concert  of  human  voices 
blended  in  an  outburst  of  love. 

Te  Deum  laudamus  ! 

From  the  heart  of  that  cathedral,  black  with  kneel- 
ing men  and  women,  the  psalm  arose  like  a  light 
that  suddenly  shines  forth  in  the  darkness,  and  the 
silence  was  broken  as  by  a  thunderclap.  The  voices 
ascended  with  the  clouds  of  incense  which  cast  a 
transparent,  bluish  veil  over  the  fantastic  beauties  of 
the  architecture.  All  was  splendor,  perfume,  light, 
and  melody.  Just  as  those  strains  of  love  and  grati- 
tude were  wafted  up  toward  the  altar,  Don  Juan,  too 
courteous  not  to  express  his  thanks,  too  clever  not 
to  understand  raillery,  replied  by  a  ghastly  laugh 
and  solemnly  moved  in  his  shrine.  But,  as  the  devil 
caused  him  to  think  of  the  risk  he  ran  of  being  taken 
for  an  ordinary  man,  a  saint,  a  Boniface,  a  Pantaleon, 


138  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE 

he  interrupted  that  outpouring  of  love  by  a  howl 
with  which  the  thousand  voices  of  hell  were  blended. 
Earth  blessed,  Heaven  cursed.  The  church  trembled 
on  its  ancient  foundations. 

"Te  Deum  laudamus!"  sang  the  assemblage. 

"  Go  to  all  the  devils,  brute  beasts  that  you  are! 
God  !  God  !  Carajos  demonios  !  Animals,  how  tire- 
some you  are  with  your  old  man  God !" 

And  a  torrent  of  imprecations  poured  forth,  like  a 
river  of  burning  lava  during  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius. 

"Deus  Sabaoth  ! — Sabaoth!"  cried  the  Christians. 

"You  insult  the  majesty  of  hell!"  replied  Don 
Juan,  gnashing  his  teeth. 

Soon  the  living  arm  succeeded  in  coming  from  the 
shrine,  and  threatened  the  assemblage  with  gestures 
instinct  with  despair  and  irony. 

"  The  saint  is  blessing  us!"  said  the  old  women, 
the  children,  and  the  betrothed  young  men,  credulous 
folk. 

This  explains  how  we  are  often  led  astray  in  our 
adorations.  The  man  of  superior  mind  makes  sport 
of  those  who  compliment  him,  and  sometimes  compli- 
ments those  of  whom  he  is  really  making  sport  in 
his  heart. 

At  the  moment  when  the  abbe,  prostrate  before 
the  altar,  chanted:  Sancte Johannes,  ora  pro  nobis!  he 
distinctly  heard  the  words:  O  coglione! 

"  What  is  going  on  up  there?"  cried  the  sub-prior, 
seeing  the  shrine  move. 

"The  saint  is  playing  the  devil,"  replied  the 
abbe. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE  139 

Thereupon  that  living  head  tore  itself  violently 
away  from  the  body  which  had  ceased  to  live,  and 
fell  upon  the  celebrant's  yellow  skull. 

"  Remember  Donna  Elvire!"  cried  the  head,  as  it 
buried  its  teeth  in  the  abbe's  head. 

The  latter  uttered  a  frightful  shriek  which  dis- 
turbed the  ceremony.  All  the  priests  ran  up  and 
surrounded  their  sovereign. 

"  Idiot,  say  that  there  is  a  God,  will  you!"  cried 
the  voice,  just  as  the  abbe,  bitten  in  the  brain,  was 
breathing  his  last. 

Paris,  October  1830. 


SERAPHITA 


TO   MADAME  EVELINE  DE  HANSKA,  NEE  COMTESSE 
RZEWUSKA 

This,  madame,  is  the  work  that  you  asked  at  my 
hands:  I  am  happy,  in  dedicating  it  to  you,  to  be  able 
to  bear  witness  to  the  respectful  affection  which  you 
have  deigned  to  allow  me  to  entertain  for  you.  If  I 
am  accused  of  failure  after  trying  to  evolve  from 
the  profundities  of  mysticism  this  book  which,  in 
addition  to  the  transparency  of  our  beautiful  lan- 
guage, demanded  the  luminous  poesy  of  the  Orient, 
yours  be  the  blame!  Did  not  you  bid  me  undertake 
this  task,  comparable  to  that  of  Jacob,  saying  to  me 
that  even  the  most  imperfect  sketch  of  the  figure  of 
which  you  had  dreamed  from  childhood,  as  I  myself 
had  done,  would  be  a  thing  of  some  value  to  you? 
So  here  it  is,  that  thing  of  some  value.  Why  may 
not  this  work  belong  exclusively  to  those  noble  minds 
which,  like  yours,  have  been  preserved  from  worldly 
trivialities  by  solitude?  such  minds  would  be  able  to 
supply  the  melodious  measure  which  it  lacks,  and 
which  would  have  made  of  it,  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
our  poets,  the  glorious  epic  which  France  is  still 
awaiting;  but  those  same  minds  will  accept  it  from 
me  like  one  of  those  balustrades  carved  by  some 
artist  overflowing  with  faith,  whereon  pilgrims  lean 
d43) 


144  DEDICATION 

to  meditate  upon  the  end  of  man,  as  they  gaze  upon 
the  choir  of  a  beautiful  church. 

I  am,  madame,  with  respect,  your  devoted  ser- 
vant 

DE  BALZAC. 

Paris,  23d  August,  1835. 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  F ALB  ERG 


On  a  certain  morning  when  tlie  sun  was  shining 
brightly  upon  the  landscape  we  have  described,  kin- 
dling the  flames  of  all  the  ephemeral  diamonds  pro- 
duced by  the  crystallisation  of  the  snow  and  ice,  tu'o 
persons  passed  across  the  fiord,  flew  along  the  base 
of  the  Falberg,  and  soared  toward  its  summit  from 
bastion  to  bastion. 


SERAPHITUS 

As  one  looks  at  the  coast-line  of  Norway  upon  a 
map,  how  can  one's  imagination  fail  to  be  moved  to 
wonder  by  its  fantastic  indentations,  a  long  stretch 
of  granite  lacework  upon  which  the  waves  of  the 
North  Sea  roar  incessantly?  who  has  not  dreamed 
of  the  majestic  spectacles  presented  by  those  beach- 
less  shores,  by  that  multitude  of  creeks  and  little 
bays  and  fiords,  of  which  not  one  is  like  the  others, 
and  which  are  all  trackless  abysses?  Would  not  one 
say  that  nature  had  taken  delight  in  stamping  in 
ineffaceable  hieroglyphs  the  symbol  of  Norwegian 
life,  by  giving  to  that  coast  the  shape  of  an  immense 
fish-bone?  for  fishing  is  the  principal  industry  of  the 
country,  and  furnishes  almost  the  entire  food-supply 
of  the  few  men  who  cling  like  lichens  to  those  bar- 
ren cliffs.  On  a  territory  covering  fourteen  degrees 
of  latitude,  there  are  hardly  seven  hundred  thousand 
souls.  Thanks  to  the  perils  unattended  by  glory,  to 
the  everlasting  snows  with  which  the  mountain 
peaks  of  Norway — the  very  name  causes  a  shiver — 
greet  the  traveller,  their  sublime  beauties  have  re- 
mained unexplored,  and  will  be  found  to  harmonize 
10  (145) 


146  SERAPHITA 

perfectly  with  the  human  phenomena,  likewise  un- 
explored, at  least  so  far  as  their  poetic  side  is  con- 
cerned, which  have  taken  place  there,  and  of  which 
this  is  the  story. 

When  one  of  these  little  bays,  a  mere  cleft  in  the 
rock  in  the  eyes  of  the  eid  ir-duck,  is  so  wide  that  the 
water  does  not  freeze  solid  in  the  prison  of  stone  in 
which  it  struggles,  the  people  of  the  country  call  it  a 
fiord,  a  word  which  almost  all  geographers  have  tried 
to  naturalize  in  their  respective  languages.  Despite 
the  generic  resemblance  of  these  quasi-canals,  each 
has  its  own  special  physiognomy:  in  all  of  them  the 
sea  has  found  its  way  into  every  fissure,  but  every- 
where the  rocks  are  cleft  in  a  different  way,  and  their 
volcanic  precipices  defy  the  most  fanciful  geometrical 
terms:  here,  the  granite  is  toothed  like  a  saw;  there, 
its  surface  is  too  steep  to  allow  the  snow  to  rest  upon 
it,  or  the  Northern  firs  with  their  graceful  plumes  to 
find  a  foothold;  farther  on,  the  upheaval  of  the  soil 
has  hollowed  out  some  dainty,  lovely  valley  adorned 
by  tier  above  tier  of  trees  with  dark  foliage.  You 
would  be  tempted  to  call  that  country  the  Switzer- 
land of  the  sea.  Between  Drontheim  and  Christi- 
ania  there  is  one  of  these  indentations  called  the 
Stromfiord.  If  the  Stromfiord  is  not  the  loveliest 
spot  in  all  that  lovely  region,  it  has,  at  all  events, 
the  merit  of  combining  all  the  terrestrial  splendors 
of  Norway,  and  of  having  served  as  the  scene  of  a 
truly  celestial  story. 

The  general  shape  of  the  Stromfiord,  at  first  sight, 
is  that  of  a  funnel  in  which  a  breach  has  been  made 


SERAPHITA  147 

by  the  sea.  The  passage  which  the  waves  have 
opened  presents  to  the  eye  the  image  of  a  struggle 
between  the  ocean  and  the  granite,  two  equally 
potent  creations:  one  by  its  inertia,  the  other  by  its 
mobility.  By  way  of  proofs,  a  number  of  reefs  of 
fantastic  formation  forbid  ships  to  enter.  In  some 
places,  the  fearless  children  of  Norway  can  leap  from 
side  to  side,  unawed  by  an  abyss  a  hundred  fathoms 
deep  and  only  six  feet  wide.  Sometimes  a  frail  and 
unsteady  bit  of  gneiss  has  fallen  across  the  abyss 
and  joins  the  two  cliffs.  Sometimes  hunters  or 
fishermen  have  thrown  firs  across,  in  guise  of  bridges, 
to  join  two  perpendicular  quays,  at  whose  bases  the 
sea  roars  incessantly.  The  dangerous,  narrow  en- 
trance to  the  fiord  turns  to  the  right  with  a  snakelike 
twist,  encounters  a  mountain  which  rises  to  a  height 
of  eighteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level,  its 
base  forming  a  vertical  shelf  half  a  league  in  length, 
whose  unyielding  granite  does  not  begin  to  crumble, 
to  split,  or  to  recede  until  it  reaches  a  point  about 
two  hundred  feet  above  the  water.  So  that  the 
sea,  rushing  violently  in,  is  dashed  back  with  equal 
violence,  by  the  vis  inertice  of  the  mountain,  against 
the  opposite  shore,  to  which  the  fierce  blows  of  the 
waves  have  imparted  graceful  curves.  At  the  head 
of  the  fiord  is  a  mass  of  gneiss  crowned  with  forests, 
from  which  a  river  falls  in  cascades,  becoming  a 
rushing  torrent  when  the  snow  melts  in  the  spring, 
when  it  forms  a  sheet  of  water  of  vast  extent,  and 
roars  down  into  the  fiord,  vomiting  forth  aged  firs 
and  larches,  which  can  hardly  be  distinguished  amid 


148  SERAPHITA 

the  foam.  Hurled  violently  into  the  deep  waters 
of  the  gulf,  these  trees  soon  reappear  on  the  surface, 
become  entangled  there  and  form  little  islands,  which 
float  ashore  on  the  left  bank,  where  the  people  of 
the  little  village  on  the  Stromfiord  find  them,  broken 
and  torn,  sometimes  with  their  trunks  entire,  but 
always  stripped  of  bark  and  branches.  The  moun- 
tain which  receives  the  assaults  of  the  sea  against 
its  base  in  the  Stromfiord,  and  the  assaults  of  the 
north  wind  upon  its  summit,  is  called  the  Falberg. 

Its  peak,  always  enveloped  in  a  cloak  of  snow  and 
ice,  is  the  steepest  in  Norway,  where  the  proximity 
of  the  pole  causes,  at  an  altitude  of  eighteen  hun- 
dred feet,  a  cold  equal  to  that  which  reigns  on 
the  loftiest  mountains  of  the  globe.  The  side  of  the 
mountain  toward  the  sea  is  an  almost  perpendicular 
cliff,  but  inclines  gradually  toward  the  east,  and  is 
connected  with  the  falls  of  the  Sieg  by  a  series  of 
valleys  at  different  elevations,  where  the  cold  allows 
nothing  to  grow  save  furze-bushes  and  stunted  trees. 
That  part  of  the  fiord  into  which  the  stream  empties 
at  the  feet  of  the  forest  is  called  Siegdalhen,  a 
word  which  may  be  translated  "  the  slope  of  the 
Sieg,"  that  being  the  name  of  the  river.  The 
curve  opposite  the  sheer  precipice  of  the  Falberg  is 
the  valley  of  Jarvis,  a  lovely  spot  overlooked  by 
hills  covered  with  firs,  larches,  birches,  and  a  few 
oaks  and  beeches,  the  richest  and  most  brightly  col- 
ored of  all  the  decorations  that  northern  nature  has 
bestowed  upon  those  rugged  cliffs.  The  eye  can 
readily  distinguish  the  line  at  which  the  soil,  heated 


SERAPHITA  149 

by  the  sun's  rays,  begins  to  allow  cultivation  and 
affords  sustenance  for  the  various  species  of  Nor- 
wegian flora.  At  that  spot,  the  fiord  is  so  wide  that 
the  waves,  hurled  back  by  the  Falberg,  expire  with 
gentle  murmuring  on  the  lowest  fringe  of  those  hill- 
sides, a  shore  bordered  with  fine  sand,  sown  with 
spangles  of  mica,  with  pretty  pebbles,  with  bits 
of  porphyry  and  marble  of  innumerable  shades, 
brought  from  Sweden  by  the  waters  of  the  river, 
and  with  drift  from  the  sea,  shells  and  sea-flowers 
which  have  been  tossed  there  by  the  storms,  from 
the  pole  or  from  the  south. 

At  the  base  of  the  mountains  of  Jarvis  lies  the 
village,  consisting  of  some  two  hundred  wooden 
houses,  whose  inhabitants  are  lost  to  the  world  like 
swarms  of  wild  bees  in  a  forest,  which,  without 
increasing  or  diminishing  in  numbers,  vegetate  con- 
tentedly, living  by  plunder  in  the  bosom  of  nature 
at  its  wildest.  The  unknown  existence  of  that  vil- 
lage is  easily  explained.  Few  men  were  bold  enough 
to  venture  among  the  reefs  at  the  outlet  of  the  fiord 
to  engage  in  fishing,  an  industry  in  which  the  Nor- 
wegians engage  on  a  grand  scale  on  other  less  perilous 
parts  of  the  coast.  The  fish  are  numerous  enough 
in  the  fiord  to  furnish  a  large  part  of  the  food-supply 
of  the  people;  the  pasture  land  in  the  valleys  sup- 
plies them  with  milk  and  butter;  then  there  are  some 
excellent  fields  in  which  they  are  able  to  raise  rye, 
hemp,  and  vegetables,  which  they  defend  against 
the  extreme  cold  and  against  the  short-lived  but  in- 
tense heat  of  their  summer  with  the  skill  that  all 


1 50  SERAPHITA 

Norwegians  display  in  that  twofold  contest.  The  lack 
of  communications,  either  by  land,  where  the  roads 
are  impracticable,  or  by  sea,  where  none  but  small 
boats  can  thread  their  way  through  the  maritime  de- 
files of  the  fiord,  prevents  them  from  enriching  them- 
selves by  finding  a  market  for  the  wood  of  their 
forests.  It  would  require  an  outlay  as  enormous  to 
make  the  fiord  navigable  as  to  open  a  road  into  the 
interior.  The  roads  from  Christiania  to  Drontheim 
give  the  fiord  a  wide  berth,  and  cross  the  Sieg  by 
a  bridge  several  leagues  from  its  mouth;  the  shore 
between  the  valley  of  Jarvis  and  Drontheim  is 
covered  with  vast,  impassable  forests;  and  the  Fal- 
berg  is  separated  from  Christiania  by  inaccessible 
precipices.  The  village  of  Jarvis  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  placed  in  communication  with  the  interior 
of  Norway  and  with  Sweden  by  way  of  the  Sieg; 
but,  to  be  brought  in  touch  with  civilization,  the 
Stromfiord  required  a  man  of  genius.  That  man  of 
genius  did,  in  fact,  make  his  appearance;  he  was  a 
poet,  a  Swedish  monk,  who  died  admiring  and  vene- 
rating the  beauties  of  the  country  as  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  of  the  Creator's  works. 

Now,  those  men  whom  study  has  endowed  with 
that  inward  sight  whose  rapid  perception  brings  in 
succession  before  their  minds,  as  upon  a  canvas,  the 
most  strongly  contrasted  landscapes  of  the  earth, 
will  readily  form  an  idea  of  the  general  appearance 
of  the  Stromfiord.  They,  and  they  alone,  perhaps, 
will  be  able  to  sail,  in  imagination,  among  the  reefs 
at  the  tortuous  entrance  of  the  bay  wherein  the  sea 


SERAPHITA  IJI 

roars  endlessly;  to  follow  its  wild  waves  along  the 
eternal  shelving  faces  of  the  Falberg,  whose  pyram- 
idal white  peaks  blend  with  the  misty  clouds  in  a  sky 
that  is  almost  always  of  a  pearly-gray;  to  admire 
the  lovely,  indented  surface  of  the  bay;  to  listen 
to  the  cascades  of  the  Sieg,  which  falls  in  long,  white 
threads  upon  a  breastwork  of  fine  trees  scattered 
about  in  confusion,  standing  erect  or  hidden  among 
fragments  of  gneiss;  and  then  to  rest  on  the  joyous 
pictures  presented  by  the  sloping  hills  of  Jarvis, 
where  the  vegetable  treasures  of  the  North  spring 
from  the  earth,  in  families,  in  myriads:  here,  birches 
graceful  as  maidens  and  swaying  gracefully  like 
them;  there,  colonnades  of  beech-trees,  with  cen- 
tenary, moss-grown  trunks;  all  the  contrasts  of  the 
varying  shades  of  green,  of  white  clouds  floating 
among  black  firs,  of  vast  moors  covered  with  purple 
heather  in  an  infinite  variety  of  shades — in  fine,  all 
the  colors,  all  the  perfumes,  of  that  flora  whose 
marvels  are  unknown  to  the  world.  Magnify  the 
proportions  of  that  amphitheatre,  soar  among  the 
clouds,  lose  yourself  in  the  clefts  of  the  cliffs 
where  the  sea-dogs  seek  repose,  your  imagination 
will  never  rise  to  the  magnificence  or  the  poesy  of 
that  corner  of  Norway!  Could  your  imagination 
ever  be  as  great  as  the  ocean  that  confines  it,  as 
capricious  as  the  fanciful  figures  outlined  by  those 
forests,  those  clouds,  those  shadows,  and  by  the 
rapid  variations  of  the  light? 

Do  you  see,  above  the  fields  by  the  shore,  on  the 
upper  margin  of  the  tillage  land  that  extends  in  a 


152  SERAPHITA 

wavy  line  along  the  base  of  the  high  hills  of  Jarvis, 
two  or  three  hundred  houses  covered  with  ncever, 
a  roofing  material  made  of  birch-bark,  frail,  low 
houses,  which  resemble  silk-worms  on  a  mulberry- 
leaf,  blown  there  by  the  wind?  Above  those  hum- 
ble, peaceful  dwellings  is  a  church,  built  with  a 
simplicity  that  harmonizes  with  the  poverty  of 
the  village.  A  cemetery  surrounds  the  apse  of  the 
church,  and  a  little  farther  on  is  the  rectory.  Still 
higher  up,  on  a  hump  of  the  mountain,  stands  a 
house,  the  only  one  in  the  village  built  of  stone, 
and,  for  that  reason,  called  by  the  natives  the 
"Swedish  chateau."  In  truth,  some  thirty  years 
before  this  story  opens,  a  rich  man  came  from 
Sweden  to  Jarvis  and  settled  there,  exerting  himself 
to  improve  the  fortunes  of  the  village.  That  little 
house,  built  with  the  design  of  inducing  the  natives 
to  build  similar  ones  for  themselves,  was  remarkable 
by  reason  of  the  solidity  of  its  construction,  and  by 
reason  of  the  wall  that  enclosed  it, — a  rare  thing  in 
Norway,  where,  notwithstanding  the  great  abun- 
dance of  stone,  wood  is  used  for  all  fences,  even  for 
those  about  the  fields.  The  house,  thus  protected 
from  the  snow,  stood  on  raised  ground  in  the  centre 
of  a  vast  courtyard.  The  windows  were  sheltered 
by  penthouses  projecting  to  a  great  distance  and 
supported  by  great  squared  firs,  which  impart  a  sort 
of  patriarchal  appearance  to  the  structures  of  the 
northern  countries.  From  beneath  those  sheltering 
projections  one  could  readily  distinguish  the  wild 
nakedness  of  the  Falberg,  compare  the  infinite 


SERAPHITA  153 

expanse  of  the  open  sea  to  the  mere  drop  of  water 
in  the  foaming  gulf,  listen  to  the  ceaseless  flowing  of 
the  Sieg,  whose  surface  seemed  motionless  at  a  dis- 
tance as  it  fell  into  its  granite  bowl,  bounded  for 
three  leagues  around  by  the  glaciers  of  the  North  ; 
in  a  word,  one  could  see  the  whole  region  in  which 
the  supernatural  events  of  this  narrative  are  to  take 
place. 

The  winter  of  1799  and  1800  was  one  of  the 
roughest  within  the  memory  of  Europeans;  the  sea 
about  Norway  rushed  bodily  into  the  fiords,  where 
the  violence  of  the  surf  ordinarily  prevents  it  from 
freezing.  A  terrific  wind,  the  effects  of  which  re- 
sembled those  of  the  Spanish  levanter,  swept  the 
ice  from  the  Stromfiord  and  blew  all  the  snow  to 
the  head  of  the  inlet.  Not  for  many  years  had  the 
people  of  Jarvis  been  permitted  to  see,  in  winter, 
the  colors  of  the  sky  reflected  in  the  vast  mirror  of 
the  water,  a  curious  spectacle  in  the  bosom  of  those 
mountains  whose  inequalities  were  all  buried  be- 
neath the  successive  layers  of  snow,  the  sharpest 
peaks  as  well  as  the  deepest  valleys  forming  slight 
folds  merely  in  the  vast  robe  cast  by  nature  over 
that  landscape,  at  that  time  melancholy  beyond 
words  in  its  glaring  monotony.  The  long  falling 
sheets  of  the  Sieg,  being  suddenly  frozen,  described 
an  enormous  arch  beneath  which  the  natives  might 
have  passed  out  of  reach  of  the  hurricanes,  had  any 
of  them  been  bold  enough  to  venture  abroad.  But 
the  dangers  of  travelling,  even  the  shortest  distances, 
kept  the  most  fearless  hunters  at  home,  for  they 


1 54  SERAPHITA 

feared  that  on  account  of  the  snow  they  might  not 
be  able  to  recognize  the  paths  cut  along  the  edges  of 
precipices  and  crevasses  and  on  the  mountain  sides. 
So  it  was  that  no  living  thing  gave  animation  to  that 
desert  of  white,  where  the  north  wind  from  the 
pole  reigned  supreme,  its  voice  alone  being  audible 
there  at  rare  intervals.  The  sky,  almost  always  of 
a  grayish  hue,  caused  the  water  to  assume  the  tints 
of  burnished  steel.  Perchance  an  old  eider-duck, 
now  and  then,  flew  unharmed  through  the  boundless 
expanse  of  sky,  protected  by  the  warm  down  about 
which  hover  the  dreams  of  the  wealthy,  who  have 
no  knowledge  of  the  dangers  which  are  the  price  of 
those  feathers;  but,  like  the  Bedouin  who  alone 
ploughs  the  trackless  sands  of  Africa,  the  bird  was 
neither  seen  nor  heard ;  the  benumbed  atmosphere, 
deprived  of  its  magnetic  currents,  echoed  neither 
the  flapping  of  its  wings  nor  its  cheery  cries.  In- 
deed, no  eye  of  sufficient  keenness  could  have  en- 
dured the  glare  of  that  precipice  covered  with 
dazzling  crystals,  and  the  pitiless  reflection  of  the 
snow,  barely  softened  on  the  summit  by  the  rays  of 
a  pallid  sun,  which  appeared  now  and  again  as  if 
desirous  to  demonstrate  the  fact  that  it  still  lived. 
Often,  when  heaps  of  gray  clouds,  driven  in  squad- 
rons among  the  mountain  peaks  and  the  firs,  con- 
cealed the  sky  beneath  a  threefold  curtain,  the 
earth,  in  default  of  light  from  heaven,  furnished 
light  for  itself.  So  it  was  that  in  that  spot  were  to 
be  seen  all  the  majestic  features  of  the  cold  that  for- 
ever encompasses  the  pole,  its  leading  characteristic 


SERAPHITA  155 

being  the  royal  silence  in  which  absolute  monarchs 
live.  Every  principle  carried  to  extremes  bears 
within  itself  the  appearance  of  a  negation  and  the 
symptoms  of  death:  is  not  life  a  contest  between 
two  forces?  In  that  spot  there  was  nothing  to  indi- 
cate life.  A  single  power,  the  unproductive  strength 
of  the  ice,  reigned  unopposed.  The  roaring  of  the 
open  sea  in  its  passion  did  not  reach  that  silent 
basin,  where  there  is  so  much  uproar  during  the 
three  short  months  when  nature  makes  all  haste  to 
produce  the  scanty  crops  necessary  for  the  support 
of  that  patient  people.  A  few  tall  firs  reared  aloft 
their  black  pyramids  laden  with  snowy  garlands, 
and  the  shape  of  their  hanging  branches,  with  their 
drooping  needles,  completed  the  mourning  aspect  of 
those  mountain  tops,  where  they  assumed  in  the 
distance  the  appearance  of  brown  specks. 

Every  family  remained  by  its  own  fireside,  in  a 
house  carefully  closed,  supplied  with  biscuit,  pre- 
served butter,  and  dried  fish,  provisions  laid  in  be- 
forehand for  the  seven  winter  months.  One  could 
hardly  see  the  smoke  from  those  dwellings.  Almost 
all  of  them  were  buried  under  the  snow,  but  protected 
against  injury  from  its  weight  by  long  boards  run- 
ning from  the  roof  to  posts  set  solidly  in  the  earth 
at  a  considerable  distance  and  forming  a  covered 
road  around  the  house.  During  such  terrible  winters, 
the  women  weave  and  dye  the  cotton  or  woollen 
stuffs  of  which  their  clothes  are  made,  while  most 
of  the  men  read,  or  abandon  themselves  to  those 
absorbing  reflections  which  have  given  birth  to  the 


1 56  SERAPHITA 

profound  theories,  the  mystic  dreams  of  the  North, 
its  beliefs,  its  exhaustive  studies  concerning  an  ab- 
struse point  in  science,  which  they  investigate  as  if 
with  a  probe;  a  semi-monastic  mode  of  life  which 
compels  the  mind  to  fall  back  upon  itself,  to  find  its 
sustenance  within  itself,  and  which  makes  of  the 
Norwegian  peasant  a  being  apart  among  the  people 
of  Europe.  Such,  then,  was  the  condition  of  the 
Stromfiord  in  the  first  year  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, about  the  middle  of  the  month  of  May. 

On  a  certain  morning  when  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  upon  the  landscape  we  have  described,  kin- 
dling the  flames  of  all  the  ephemeral  diamonds  pro- 
duced by  the  crystallization  of  the  snow  and  ice,  two 
persons  passed  across  the  fiord,  flew  along  the  base 
of  the  Falberg,  and  soared  toward  its  summit  from 
bastion  to  bastion.  Were  they  two  human  beings  or 
two  arrows?  One  who  had  seen  them  rising,  frieze 
above  frieze,  would  have  taken  them  for  two  eider- 
ducks  sailing  in  company  through  the  clouds.  Neither 
the  most  superstitious  fisherman  nor  the  most  daring 
huntsman  would  have  attributed  to  human  creatures 
the  power  to  retain  their  footing  along  the  faint  lines 
marked  upon  the  granite  where  those  two  glided 
along  none  the  less  with  the  uncanny  surefooted  ness 
possessed  by  somnambulists  when,  forgetting  all  the 
risks  attendant  upon  their  weight  and  the  dangers  of 
the  slightest  deviation  from  the  true  course,  they 
run  along  the  edges  of  roofs,  maintaining  their  equi- 
librium by  virtue  of  some  unknown  power. 

"Stop,  Seraphitus,"  said  one  of  the  two,  a  pale 


SERAPHITA  157 

young  girl,  "  and  let  me  breathe.  I  have  looked  only 
at  you  as  we  climbed  the  walls  of  this  abyss;  other- 
wise, what  would  have  become  of  me?  But  then,  I 
am  only  a  poor,  weak  creature.  Do  I  tire  you?" 

"  No,"  said  he,  upon  whose  arm  she  was  leaning. 
"Forward,  Minna!  the  place  where  we  now  are  is 
not  secure  enough  for  us  to  stay  here." 

Again  they  both  made  the  long  pieces  of  board 
fastened  to  their  feet  whistle  over  the  snow,  and 
reached  the  first  shelf  which  chance  had  clearly 
marked  upon  the  side  of  the  abyss.  The  person 
whom  Minna  called  Seraphitus  supported  himself 
upon  his  right  heel  to  raise  the  board,  which  was 
about  six  feet  long,  narrow  as  a  child's  foot,  and 
was  made  fast  to  his  shoe  by  two  thongs  made  of 
the  skin  of  a  sea-dog.  The  board  was  about  two 
inches  thick  and  faced  with  reindeer  skin,  the  hair 
of  which,  standing  erect  in  the  snow,  brought  Sera- 
phitus abruptly  to  a  standstill;  he  drew  up  his  left 
foot,  to  which  was  attached  a  similar  patten  not 
less  than  twelve  feet  long,  turned  hastily  around, 
seized  his  timid  companion,  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
notwithstanding  the  long  pattens  with  which  her 
feet  were  shod,  and  seated  her  on  a  block  of  granite 
after  brushing  the  snow  away  with  his  cloak. 

"You  are  safe  here,  Minna,  you  can  tremble  at 
your  ease." 

"  We  have  already  climbed  a  third  of  the  way  up 
the  Ice-Cap,"  she  said,  glancing  up  at  the  peak  to 
which  she  gave  the  popular  name  by  which  it  is 
known  in  Norway.  "  I  cannot  believe  it." 


1 58  SERAPHITA 

But  she  was  too  much  out  of  breath  to  say  more, 
so  she  smiled  at  Seraphitus,  who  placed  his  hand 
upon  her  heart  without  replying,  and  held  her  so, 
listening  to  its  resonant  palpitations,  which  were  as 
hurried  as  those  of  a  young  bird  taken  by  surprise. 

"  It  often  beats  as  quickly  when  I  have  not  been 
running,"  she  said. 

Seraphitus  bowed,  with  no  sign  of  disdain  or  in- 
difference. Despite  the  grace  which  made  that 
movement  of  his  head  almost  courtly,  it  neverthe- 
less betrayed  a  dissent  which,  in  a  woman,  would 
have  been  bewitchingly  coquettish.  Seraphitus 
pressed  the  maiden  warmly  to  his  heart.  Minna 
took  the  caress  for  a  reply,  and  continued  to  gaze 
at  him.  As  Seraphitus  raised  his  head,  tossing  back 
from  his  forehead  the  golden  masses  of  his  hair 
with  an  almost  impatient  gesture,  so  as  to  expose  his 
brow,  he  read  happiness  in  his  companion's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  Minna,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  whose  paternal 
accent  had  a  fascinating  sound  in  the  mouth  of  one 
still  in  his  teens,  "  look  at  me,  do  not  look  down." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  know?     Try  it." 

Minna  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  her  feet,  and  uttered 
a  sudden  shriek,  like  a  child  who  has  fallen  in  with 
a  tiger.  The  horrible  sensation  of  dizziness  had 
seized  her,  that  single  glance  had  sufficed  to  com- 
municate the  contagion  to  her.  The  fiord,  jealous 
of  encroachments  upon  its  domain,  roared  aloud  in  a 
voice  that  confused  her,  ringing  in  her  ears,  as  if  to 
'devour  her  more  surely  by  interposing  between  her 


SERAPHITA  1 59 

and  life.  Thereupon  a  shiver  crept  down  her  back 
from  her  hair  to  her  feet,  icy  cold  at  first,  but  it  soon 
poured  into  her  nerves  an  insufferable  heat,  beat 
violently  in  her  veins,  and  tortured  all  her  extremities 
with  electric  shocks  like  those  caused  by  touching 
the  electric  eel.  Too  weak  to  resist,  she  felt  herself 
irresistibly  drawn  by  an  unknown  force  down  from 
the  shelf  on  which  they  stood,  where  she  fancied 
that  she  saw  some  monster  darting  venom  at  her,  a 
monster  whose  magnetic  eyes  fascinated  her,  whose 
open  jaws  seemed  to  be  crunching  his  prey  in  antici- 
pation. 

"  I  die,  my  Seraphitus,  having  never  loved  anyone 
but  you,"  she  said,  mechanically  making  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  jump. 

Seraphitus  breathed  softly  on  her  forehead  and 
her  eyes.  Suddenly,  like  the  traveller  refreshed  by 
a  bath,  Minna  found  that  only  the  memory  remained 
of  her  poignant  suffering,  already  banished  by  that 
caressing  breath  which  permeated  her  body  and  in- 
undated her  with  balsamic  emanations,  as  swiftly  as 
the  breath  had  passed  through  the  air. 

"Who,  then,  are  you?"  she  said,  with  a  feeling 
of  delicious  terror.  "  But  I  know,  you  are  my  life. — 
How  can  you  look  into  that  abyss  without  dying?" 
she  continued,  after  a  pause. 

Seraphitus  left  her  clinging  to  the  granite,  and 
went  and  took  up  his  position,  as  a  ghost  might 
have  done,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  shelf,  whence 
his  eyes  gazed  down  into  the  fiord,  defying  its 
dazzling  depth;  his  body  did  not  tremble,  his  brow 


160  SERAPHITA 

remained  as  white  and  impassive  as  that  of  a  marble 
statue:  abyss  against  abyss! 

"Seraphitus,  if  you  love  me,  come  back!"  cried 
the  girl.  "Your  danger  renews  my  torture. — Who 
are  you,  pray,  that  you  have  such  superhuman 
power  at  your  age?"  she  asked  him,  when  she  felt 
his  arms  about  her  once  more. 

"  Why,"  he  replied,  "  you  look  without  fear  upon 
spaces  far  more  vast." 

And  this  strange  being  pointed  with  his  raised 
finger  to  the  halo  of  blue  sky  left  by  the  clouds 
above  their  heads,  in  which  the  stars  could  be  seen 
in  broad  day  by  virtue  of  an  atmospheric  law  not  yet 
explained. 

"  But  what  a  difference!"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"You  are  right,"  he  replied;  "we  were  born  to 
bend  our  steps  heavenward.  One's  native  country, 
like  a  mother's  face,  never  frightens  a  child." 

His  voice  stirred  the  very  entrails  of  his  com- 
panion, who  had  become  silent. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  on,"  he  added. 

They  flitted  together  along  the  faintly-marked 
paths  on  the  mountain-side,  from  terrace  to  terrace, 
from  line  to  line,  with  the  rapidity  of  the  Arabian 
horse,  that  bird  of  the  desert.  In  a  few  moments, 
they  reached  a  carpet  of  grass  and  mosses  and 
flowers,  whereon  no  human  creature  had  ever  rested. 

"What  a  lovely  sorter!"  exclaimed  Minna,  call- 
ing the  mead  by  its  true  name;  "  but  how  happens 
it  to  be  at  this  height?" 

"  We  are  above  the  line  of  the  Norwegian  flora,  it 


SERAPHITA  l6l 

is  true,"  said  Seraphitus;  "  but  the  presence  of  these 
few  blades  of  grass  and  flowers  is  due  to  this  cliff 
which  shelters  them  from  the  polar  cold. — Put  this 
flower  in  your  bosom,  Minna,"  he  added,  plucking 
a  flower;  "  take  this  fragrant,  unique  flower  that  no 
human  eye  has  ever  beheld,  and  keep  it  as  a  souve- 
nir of  this  morning,  unique  in  your  life!  Never  again 
will  you  find  a  guide  to  lead  you  to  this  sosler." 

As  he  spoke,  he  suddenly  handed  her  a  hybrid 
plant  which  his  eagle  eye  had  shown  him  among 
the  stalkless  silenes  and  the  saxifrages,  a  veritable 
marvel  of  beauty  blossoming  under  the  breath  of 
angels.  With  childish  eagerness,  Minna  seized  the 
plant,  in  color  a  transparent  green  as  brilliant  as 
the  green  of  the  emerald,  consisting  of  small  green 
leaves  rolled  together  in  the  shape  of  a  horn,  light 
brown  in  the  centre,  but  changing  gradually  to  green 
toward  the  edges,  which  were  serrated  with  teeth  of 
marvellous  delicacy  of  outline.  The  leaves  were  so 
close  together  that  they  seemed  to  blend  with  one 
another,  and  produced  a  multitude  of  pretty  rose- 
shaped  effects.  Here  and  there,  upon  that  carpet, 
rose  white  stars  bordered  with  a  thread  of  gold, 
with  purple  stamens  but  no  pistils  protruding  from 
their  bosoms.  A  perfume,  suggestive  at  once  of 
that  of  the  rose  and  the  orange-blossom,  but  fleeting 
and  wild,  gave  the  final  touch  to  the  indefinably 
celestial  quality  of  that  mysterious  flower,  which 
Seraphitus  contemplated  with  a  sort  of  melancholy, 
as  if  its  odor  expressed  to  him  plaintive  thoughts 
which  he  alone  understood.  But  to  Minna  that 
ii 


162  SERAPHITA 

extraordinary  phenomenon  seemed  to  be  a  mere  ca- 
price whereby  nature  had  amused  herself  by  endow- 
ing stones  with  the  freshness,  the  beauty,  and  the 
fragrance  of  plants. 

"  Why  should  it  be  unique?  Will  it  never  be  re- 
peated?" the  girl  asked  Seraphitus,  who  blushed, 
and  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

"  Let  us  sit  down;  turn  around  and  look!  Per- 
haps you  will  not  tremble  at  this  height?  The  abyss 
is  so  deep  now  that  you  can  no  longer  distinguish 
its  depth,  it  has  acquired  the  smooth  aspect  of  the 
sea,  the  indistinctness  of  the  clouds,  the  color  of 
the  sky;  the  ice  in  the  fiord  is  a  lovely  turquoise 
shade;  the  forests  of  firs  are  mere  faint  dark-brown 
lines;  for  us,  all  abysses  should  be  thus  adorned." 

Seraphitus  uttered  these  words  with  the  impres- 
siveness  of  tone  and  gesture  known  only  to  those 
who  have  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  loftiest 
mountains  on  the  globe;  a  manner  contracted  so  in- 
stinctively that  the  haughtiest  traveller  finds  him- 
self compelled  to  treat  his  guide  as  a  brother,  and 
does  not  deem  himself  his  superior  until  they  de- 
scend again  into  the  valleys  where  men  dwell.  He 
knelt  at  Minna's  feet  and  removed  her  snow-shoes. 
The  child  was  not  conscious  of  it,  so  lost  in  wonder 
was  she  at  the  imposing  spectacle  presented  by  the 
Norwegian  landscape,  the  high  cliffs  being  visible 
from  base  to  summit  at  a  single  glance:  so  deeply 
.moved  was  she  by  the  solemn  permanence  of  those 
ice-bound  peaks,  which  mere  words  were  powerless 
to  describe. 


SERAPHITA  163 

"  We  did  not  come  here  by  the  aid  of  human 
strength  alone,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands; 
"surely  I  am  dreaming." 

"  You  call  those  facts  supernatural  of  which  the 
causes  elude  you,"  he  replied. 

"Your  answers,"  she  rejoined,  "are  always 
stamped  with  an  indefinable  depth  of  meaning.  Be- 
side you,  I  understand  everything  without  an  effort. 
Ah!  I  am  free." 

"  You  no  longer  have  your  snow-shoes  on,  that  is 
all." 

"  Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "  when  I  would  have  loved 
to  unfasten  yours  and  kiss  your  feet!" 

"Keep  such  words  for  Wilfrid,"  rejoined  Sera- 
phitus,  gently. 

"Wilfrid!"  Minna  repeated,  in  an  outburst  of 
wrath,  which  subsided  as  soon  as  she  had  glanced  at 
her  companion. — "You  never  lose  your  temper!" 
she  said,  trying,  but  in  vain,  to  take  his  hand ; 
"you  are  despairingly  perfect  in  every  respect." 

"And  from  that  you  conclude  that  I  am  without 
feeling?" 

Minna  was  terrified  at  that  keen  glance  flashed 
into  her  mind. 

"You  make  it  clear  to  me  that  we  understand 
each  other,"  she  replied,  with  the  fascinating  grace 
of  the  woman  who  loves. 

Seraphitus  shook  his  head  slowly  as  he  glanced  at 
her  with  an  expression  at  once  sad  and  sweet. 

"Do  you  who  know  everything,"  continued 
Minna,  "  tell  me  why  the  shyness  that  I  felt  with 


164  SERAPHITA 

you  down  yonder  has  vanished  since  we  came  up 
here;  why  do  I  now  dare,  for  the  first  time,  to  look 
you  in  the  face,  whereas,  down  in  the  valley,  I 
hardly  dared  to  steal  a  glance  at  you?" 

"  Here,  perhaps,  we  have  laid  aside  the  trivial 
things  of  earth,"  he  replied,  removing  his  cloak. 

"You  were  never  so  handsome,"  said  Minna, 
seating  herself  upon  a  moss-covered  rock,  and  losing 
herself  in  contemplation  of  the  being  who  had  guided 
her  over  a  part  of  the  mountain  which  at  a  distance 
seemed  inaccessible. 

Never,  in  very  truth,  had  Seraphitus  shone  with 
such  dazzling  brilliancy;  no  other  expression  would 
do  justice  to  the  animation  of  his  features  and  the 
general  aspect  of  his  person.  Was  that  splendor 
due  to  the  lustre  imparted  to  the  complexion  by 
the  pure  air  of  the  mountains  and  the  reflection  of  the 
snow?  was  it  produced  by  the  internal  commotion 
which  overexcites  the  body  when  it  is  resting  after 
long-continued  agitation?  was  it  attributable  to  the 
sharp  contrast  between  the  golden  radiance  cast  by 
the  sun  and  the  darkness  of  the  clouds  through 
which  the  lovely  couple  had  passed?  Perhaps  we 
should  add  to  those  causes  the  effects  of  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  phenomena  which  human  nature  has 
it  in  its  power  to  offer.  If  some  skilful  physiologist 
had  examined  that  creature,  who  seemed  at  that  mo- 
ment, judging  by  the  pride  depicted  upon  his  brow 
and  the  gleam  that  shot  from  his  eyes,  a  young 
man  of  some  seventeen  years ;  if  he  had  sought 
the  active  principle  of  that  vigorous  life  beneath 


SERAPHITA  165 

the  fairest  skin  that  ever  the  North  bestowed  upon 
one  of  its  children,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  be- 
come convinced  of  the  existence  of  a  phosphores- 
cent fluid  in  nerves  which  seemed  to  shine  beneath 
the  epidermis,  or  of  the  constant  burning  of  an  in- 
ward light  which  illumined  Seraphitus  as  an  alabaster 
lamp  is  illumined  by  the  light  within  it.  Although 
his  hands,  from  which  he  had  removed  the  gloves 
in  order  to  unfasten  Minna's  snow-shoes,  were  slen- 
der and  tapering,  they  seemed  to  possess  strength 
equal  to  that  which  the  Creator  has  bestowed  on  the 
transparent  claws  of  the  crab.  The  golden  flames 
that  flashed  from  his  eyes  contended  for  supremacy 
with  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  he  seemed  not  to  re- 
ceive light  from  it,  but  to  give  it  light.  His  body, 
slender  and  fragile  as  a  woman's,  denoted  one  of 
those  natures  apparently  feeble,  whose  power  is  al- 
ways on  a  level  with  their  desires,  and  who  are 
always  strong  at  the  right  moment. 

Seraphitus  was  of  medium  height,  but  seemed  to 
grow  taller  when  he  turned  his  face  to  you,  as  if 
he  were  about  to  soar  aloft.  His  hair,  curled  by 
a  fairy's  hand,  and  seemingly  ruffled  by  a  breath 
of  wind,  added  to  the  illusion  produced  by  his 
ethereal  bearing;  but  that  bearing,  entirely  free 
from  effort,  resulted  from  a  mental  phenomenon 
rather  than  from  a  physical  habit.  Minna's  imag- 
ination was  accessory  to  that  constant  hallucination, 
to  which  anyone  would  have  fallen  a  victim,  and 
which  gave  to  Seraphitus  the  appearance  of  the 
faces  we  see  in  a  pleasant  dream.  No  known  type 


166  SERAPHITA 

could  convey  an  adequate  impression  of  that  face, 
so  majestically  virile  in  Minna's  eyes,  but,  in  the 
eyes  of  a  man,  capable  of  eclipsing  by  its  feminine 
charm  the  loveliest  faces  that  we  owe  to  Raphael's 
brush.  That  divine  painter  constantly  portrayed  a 
sort  of  placid  joy,  an  amorous  sweetness  in  the  lines 
of  his  angelic  beauties;  but  was  ever  imagination  so 
rich  that,  without  looking  upon  Seraphitus  himself, 
it  could  portray  the  melancholy  blended  with  hope 
which  half  concealed  the  ineffable  sentiments  stamped 
upon  his  features?  Who  could  conceive,  even  in  an 
artistic  rhapsody,  when  everything  is  possible,  the 
shadows  cast  by  a  mysterious  awe  upon  that  too  in- 
telligent brow  which  seemed  to  question  the  skies  and 
always  to  have  pity  on  the  earth?  That  head  soared 
disdainfully  aloft,  like  a  sublime  bird  of  prey  whose 
cries  rend  the  air,  and  yet  was  as  resigned  as  the 
turtle-dove  whose  voice  pours  forth  its  song  of  affec- 
tion in  the  heart  of  the  silent  forest.  Seraphitus's 
complexion  was  unusually  light,  and  its  fairness  was 
heightened  by  red  lips,  dark-brown  eyebrows  and 
silky  lashes,  the  only  details  that  marred  the  pallor 
of  a  face  whose  perfect  regularity  of  feature  inter- 
fered in  no  wise  with  the  vivid  expression  of  the 
feelings;  they  were  reflected  therein  without  strain 
or  violence,  but  with  the  natural  and  majestic  gravity 
which  we  love  to  attribute  to  beings  of  a  superior 
type.  Everything  in  that  marble-like  face  expressed 
strength  and  repose. 

Minna  rose  to  take  Seraphitus's  hand,  hoping  that 
she  might  in  that  way  draw  him  toward  her  and  lay 


SERAPHITA  167 

upon  that  fascinating  brow  a  kiss  extorted  by  ad- 
miration rather  than  by  love;  but  a  glance  from  the 
young  man,  a  glance  that  penetrated  her  very  being 
as  a  sunbeam  penetrates  the  prism,  froze  the  poor 
girl's  blood.  She  was  conscious,  but  without  under- 
standing it,  of  a  gulf  between  them,  she  turned  her 
face  away  and  wept.  Suddenly  a  powerful  hand 
grasped  her  waist,  and  a  voice,  overflowing  with 
melody,  said  to  her: 

"Come!" 

She  obeyed,  and  placed  her  face,  suddenly  reani- 
mated, against  the  young  man's  heart;  and  he, 
adapting  his  step  to  hers,  with  sweet  courtesy, 
led  her  to  a  spot  from  which  they  could  see  the 
gorgeous  decorations  of  the  polar  landscape. 

"  Before  I  look  at  you  and  listen  to  you,  Sera- 
phitus,  tell  me  why  you  repulse  me?  Have  I  dis- 
pleased you?  tell  me  how.  I  would  like  to  have 
nothing  of  my  own  ;  I  would  that  all  my  earthly 
riches  were  yours  as  the  riches  of  my  heart  are 
yours;  that  the  light  came  to  me  only  through  your 
eyes,  as  my  thoughts  are  derived  from  your  thoughts; 
then  I  should  no  longer  fear  to  offend  you  by  send- 
ing back  to  you  the  reflections  of  your  mind,  the 
words  of  your  heart,  the  light  of  your  light,  as  we 
send  back  to  God  the  reflections  with  which  He  feeds 
our  minds.  I  would  like  to  be  all  you!" 

"  Ah,  well,  Minna,  a  constant  desire  is  a  promise 
made  us  by  the  future.  Hope  on!  But  if  you  wish 
to  be  pure,  always  mingle  the  thought  of  the  Om- 
nipotent with  your  earthly  affections,  then  you  will 


1 68  SERAPHITA 

love  all  His  creatures,  and  your  heart  will  attain  a 
great  height!" 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish,"  she  replied,  rais- 
ing her  eyes  timidly  to  his  face. 

"I  cannot  be  your  companion,"  said  Seraphitus, 
sadly. 

He  forced  back  certain  thoughts  that  came  to  his 
lips,  and  held  out  his  arms  toward  Christiania,  which 
was  visible,  a  mere  speck  on  the  horizon. 

"Look!"  said  he. 

"  We  are  very  small,"  she  replied. 

"  True,  but  we  become  great  by  sentiment  and 
intelligence,"  replied  Seraphitus.  "With  us  alone, 
Minna,  begins  the  knowledge  of  things;  the  little 
that  we  learn  of  the  laws  of  the  visible  world  enables 
us  to  discover  the  vastness  of  the  worlds  above.  I 
know  not  if  there  is  still  time  to  speak  thus  to  you; 
but  I  would  be  so  glad  to  communicate  to  you  the 
flame  of  my  hopes!  Perhaps  we  shall  be  together 
some  day  in  the  world  where  love  does  not  die." 

"  Why  not  now  and  forever?"  she  murmured. 

"Nothing  is  stable  here,"  he  scornfully  replied. 
"  The  ephemeral  bliss  of  earthly  loves  is  a  ray 
of  light  which  indicates  to  some  minds  the  dawn  of 
more  lasting  bliss,  just  as  the  discovery  of  a  natural 
law  leads  some  richly  endowed  minds  to  infer  the 
existence  of  a  whole  system  of  similar  laws.  Is  not 
our  fragile  earthly  happiness,  then,  the  proof  of 
another  perfect  happiness,  just  as  the  earth,  a  frag- 
ment of  the  world,  is  a  proof  of  the  existence  of 
the  world?  We  cannot  measure  the  vast  orbit  of  the 


SERAPHITA  169 

divine  thought,  of  which  we  are  but  an  atom,  as 
infinitesimal  as  God  is  great,  but  we  can  foresee  its 
immensity,  and  kneel  and  worship  and  wait.  Men 
always  go  astray  in  their  scientific  investigations 
because  they  do  not  see  that  everything  on  this  globe 
of  theirs  is  relative  and  implies  a  general  revolution, 
a  constant  production  which  necessarily  brings  with 
it  progress  toward  an  end.  Man  himself  is  not  a 
complete  creation;  otherwise  God  would  not  exist!" 

"How  have  you  found  time  to  learn  so  many 
things?"  the  girl  asked  him. 

"  I  remember,"  was  his  reply. 

"  In  my  eyes,  you  are  more  beautiful  than  every- 
thing else  that  I  see." 

"We  are  among  the  greatest  of  God's  works. 
Has  He  not  given  us  the  power  to  meditate  concern- 
ing nature,  to  concentrate  it  in  ourselves  by  the 
thought,  and  to  make  of  it  a  stepping-stone  to  rise 
nearer  to  Him  ?  We  love  one  another  in  proportion 
as  our  minds  contain  more  or  less  of  Heaven.  But 
do  not  be  unjust,  Minna;  look  at  the  spectacle  spread 
out  at  your  feet,  is  it  not  grand?  At  your  feet  the 
ocean  stretches  away  like  a  carpet,  the  mountains 
are  like  the  walls  of  a  circus,  the  ether  above  us  is 
like  the  rounded  curtain  of  this  great  theatre,  and 
here  we  inhale  the  thought  of  God  like  a  sweet  per- 
fume. Look!  the  storms  that  shatter  vessels  laden 
with  men  seem  to  us  here  but  gentle  breezes,  and  if 
you  raise  your  head  and  look  above  us,  all  is  blue. 
See  yonder  diadem  of  stars.  Here  the  varying 
shades  of  terrestrial  expression  disappear.  Gazing 


170  SERAPHITA 

upon  this  landscape,  softened  by  distance,  do  you 
not  feel  within  yourself  more  profundity  of  thought 
than  wit?  have  you  not  more  solemnity  than  en- 
thusiasm? more  energy  than  will?  are  you  not  con- 
scious of  sensations  which  we  have  no  power  to 
interpret?  Do  you  not  feel  that  you  have  wings? 
Let  us  pray." 

Seraphitus  bent  his  knee,  and  crossed  his  hands  on 
his  breast,  while  Minna  fell  upon  her  knees  weeping. 
They  remained  thus  for  some  moments,  during  which 
the  blue  halo  in  the  sky  above  their  heads  grew 
larger,  and  beams  of  light  enveloped  them  without 
their  knowledge. 

"Why  do  not  you  weep  when  I  weep?"  said 
Minna  in  a  broken  voice. 

"They  who  are  all  spirit  do  not  weep,"  replied 
Seraphitus,  rising.  "Why  should  I  weep?  I  no 
longer  see  the  misery  of  mankind.  Here,  the  good 
shines  forth  in  all  its  majesty;  below,  I  hear  the 
supplications  and  the  agonizing  cries  of  the  harp  of 
sorrows,  vibrating  under  the  fingers  of  the  captive 
spirit.  Here,  I  listen  to  the  concert  of  the  heavenly 
harps.  Below,  you  have  hope,  that  noble  commence- 
ment of  faith;  but  this  is  the  kingdom  of  faith,  which 
is  hope  realized !" 

"You  would  never  love  me,  I  am  too  imperfect, 
you  despise  me,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Minna,  the  violet  that  lies  hidden  at  the  foot  of 
the  oak  says  to  itself:  '  The  sun  loves  me  not,  it 
comes  not  to  me.'  The  sun  says  to  itself:  '  Should 
I  shine  upon  that  poor  flower,  it  would  perish ! ' 


SERAPHITA  171 

Being  fond  of  the  flower,  it  filters  its  rays  through 
the  leaves  of  the  oak,  and  so  weakens  them  in  order 
to  color  the  petals  of  its  beloved.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  do  not  wear  veils  enough,  and  I  fear  lest  you 
see  me  too  clearly:  you  would  shudder  if  you  knew 
me  better.  Listen:  I  have  no  taste  for  the  fruits  of 
the  earth;  I  have  learned  to  know  too  well  the 
pleasures  you  enjoy;  and,  like  the  dissolute  em- 
perors of  profane  Rome,  I  have  reached  the  point 
where  everything  is  distasteful  to  me,  for  I  have 
acquired  the  gift  of  second-sight.  Give  me  up," 
said  Seraphitus,  sorrowfully. 

He  went  and  took  his  seat  upon  a  block  of  stone, 
letting  his  head  fall  forward  on  his  breast. 

"Why  do  you  drive  me  to  despair  thus?"  said 
Minna. 

"  Begone!"  cried  Seraphitus.  "  I  have  nothing  of 
what  you  would  have  of  me.  Your  love  is  too 
earthly  for  me.  Why  do  you  not  love  Wilfrid? 
Wilfrid  is  a  man,  a  man  tried  by  passions,  who  will 
know  how  to  embrace  you  with  his  nervous  arms, 
who  will  make  you  feel  the  pressure  of  a  broad, 
strong  hand.  He  has  fine,  black  hair,  eyes  over- 
flowing with  human  thoughts,  a  heart  that  pours 
torrents  of  lava  into  the  words  his  lips  pronounce. 
He  will  crush  you  with  caresses.  He  will  be  your 
well-beloved,  your  husband.  Wilfrid  is  the  man  for 
you!" 

Minna  wept  hot  tears. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  say  that  you  love  him  not?"  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  that  pierced  her  heart  like  a  dagger. 


172  SERAPHITA 

"  Mercy,  mercy,  my  Seraphitus!" 

"  Love  him,  poor  child  of  the  earth  to  which  your 
destiny  holds  you  fast,"  said  the  terrible  Seraphitus, 
seizing  Minna  with  a  violence  that  forced  her  to  go 
with  him  to  the  edge  of  the  soekr,  from  which  the 
view  was  so  boundless  that  an  enthusiastic  girl  could 
easily  believe  herself  to  be  above  the  world.  "  I 
desired  a  companion  to  go  with  me  to  the  kingdom 
of  light,  I  determined  to  show  you  this  bit  of  clay, 
and  I  see  that  you  still  cling  to  it.  Farewell !  Re- 
main here,  enjoy  through  your  senses,  obey  your 
nature,  turn  pale  with  pale  men,  blush  with  women, 
play  with  the  children,  pray  with  the  guilty,  raise 
your  eyes  to  Heaven  in  your  sorrow;  tremble,  hope, 
palpitate;  you  will  have  a  companion,  you  can  still 
laugh  and  weep,  give  and  receive.  But  I  am  a  sort 
of  outcast,  far  from  heaven;  a  sort  of  monster,  far 
from  earth.  My  heart  no  longer  beats;  I  live  only 
in  myself  and  for  myself.  I  feel  with  my  mind,  I 
breathe  with  my  brow,  I  see  with  my  thought,  I  am 
dying  of  impatience  and  hopeless  longings.  No  one 
on  earth  has  the  power  to  gratify  my  desires,  to  calm 
my  impatience,  and  I  have  forgotten  how  to  weep. 
I  am  alone.  I  am  resigned,  and  I  wait." 

Seraphitus  glanced  at  the  flower-strewn  mound  on 
which  he  had  placed  Minna,  then  turned  toward  the 
lofty  mountains  whose  summits  were  veiled  with 
dense  clouds,  into  which  he  cast  the  rest  of  his 
thoughts. 

"Do  you  not  hear  a  delicious  concert,  Minna?" 
he  continued,  in  his  turtle-dove's  voice,  for  the  eagle 


SERAPHITA  173 

had  cried  enough.  "  Would  not  one  say  it  was  pro- 
duced by  the  >£olian  harps  which  your  poets  place 
in  the  heart  of  forests  and  mountains?  Do  you  see 
the  indistinct  figures  in  yonder  clouds?  do  you  see  the 
winged  feet  of  those  who  are  arranging  the  decora- 
tions of  the  sky?  Those  strains  refresh  the  soul; 
soon  the  sky  will  let  fall  the  flowers  of  spring,  a 
gleam  of  light  has  come  from  the  north.  Let  us  fly, 
it  is  time." 

In  a  moment,  their  snow-shoes  were  reattached 
and  they  descended  the  Falberg  by  the  steep  slopes 
that  led  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Sieg.  A  miracu- 
lous intelligence  guided  their  course,  or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  their  flight.  When  a  snow-covered 
crevasse  came  in  their  way,  Seraphitus  grasped 
Minna  and  darted  swiftly,  light  as  a  bird,  across  the 
fragile  layer  of  snow  that  bridged  the  deep  chasm. 
Often,  guiding  his  companion's  steps,  he  made  a 
slight  deviation  to  avoid  a  precipice,  a  tree,  a  rock 
which  he  seemed  to  see  under  the  snow,  as  seamen 
familiar  with  the  ocean  divine  the  presence  of  reefs 
by  the  color,  the  eddies,  or  the  smoothness  of  the 
water.  When  they  reached  the  Siegdalhen  path  and 
could  go  down  almost  fearlessly  in  a  straight  line  to 
the  ice  in  the  Stromfiord,  Seraphitus  stopped  Minna. 

"  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  to  me?"  he  asked 
her. 

"  I  thought  that  you  wished  to  meditate  undis- 
turbed," replied  the  maiden,  respectfully. 

"  Let  us  hurry,  sweet  one,  the  night  is  at  hand," 
he  rejoined. 


174  SERAPHITA 

Minna  started  when  she  heard  the  voice  of  her 
guide,  for  its  tone  was  new  to  her;  pure  as  a  young 
girl's,  it  put  to  flight  the  fantastic,  luminous  mist  of 
the  dream  through  which  she  had  thus  far  marched. 
Seraphitus  began  to  lay  aside  his  masculine  vigor  and 
to  banish  from  his  glances  their  too  keen  intelligence. 
Soon  those  two  fascinating  creatures  glided  out  upon 
the  fiord  and  reached  the  field  of  snow  that  lay  be- 
tween the  bank  and  the  first  row  of  houses  in  the 
village  of  Jarvis;  then,  impelled  by  the  approach  of 
darkness,  they  ascended  hastily  toward  the  rectory, 
as  if  they  were  climbing  the  steps  of  a  vast  staircase. 

"  My  father  must  be  anxious,"  said  Minna. 

"  No,"  Seraphitus  replied. 

At  that  moment,  they  reached  the  porch  of  the 
humble  dwelling  where  Monsieur  Becker,  the  pastor 
of  Jarvis,  sat  reading,  awaiting  his  daughter  for  the 
evening  meal. 

"Dear  Monsieur  Becker,"  said  Seraphitus,  "I 
bring  Minna  back  to  you  safe  and  sound." 

"  Thanks,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  old  man, 
laying  his  spectacles  down  on  the  book.  "  You 
must  be  tired." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Minna,  who  at  that  moment 
felt  her  companion's  breath  on  her  brow. 

"  Will  you  come  to  take  tea  with  me,  little  one,  on 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  in  the  afternoon?" 

"  With  great  pleasure,  my  dear." 

"You  will  bring  her,  will  you  not,  Monsieur 
Becker?" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 


SERAPHITA  175 

Seraphitus  bowed  coquettishly,  saluted  the  old 
man,  departed,  and  a  few  moments  later  arrived  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  Swedish  chateau.  An  octoge- 
narian man-servant  appeared  under  the  immense 
penthouse,  holding  a  lantern.  Seraphitus  removed 
his  snow-shoes  with  the  graceful  dexterity  of  a 
woman,  hastened  to  the  parlor,  threw  himself  on 
a  great  couch  covered  with  furs,  and  lay  there  at 
full  length. 

"  What  will  you  have  to  eat?"  asked  the  old  man, 
lighting  the  unconscionably  long  candles  that  are 
used  in  Norway. 

"  Nothing,  David,  I  am  too  tired." 

He  removed  his  cloak  lined  with  marten  fur,  rolled 
himself  up  in  it,  and  fell  asleep.  The  old  servant 
stood  for  some  moments  gazing  fondly  at  the  singular 
being  who  was  reposing  under  his  eyes,  and  whose 
sex  nobody  would  have  found  it  easy  to  determine, 
not  even  those  most  knowing  in  such  matters.  To 
see  him  lying  so,  wrapped  in  his  customary  garment, 
which  resembled  a  woman's  peignoir  quite  as  much 
as  a  man's  cloak,  it  was  impossible  not  to  attribute 
to  a  young  girl  the  dainty  feet  which  he  allowed  to 
hang  over  the  edge  of  the  couch,  as  if  to  show  with 
what  delicate  grace  nature  had  attached  them  to  his 
legs;  but  his  brow,  his  profile,  would  have  seemed 
to  denote  manly  vigor  carried  to  its  highest  point. 

"  She  is  suffering,  and  will  not  tell  me,"  thought 
the  old  man;  "she  is  dying  like  a  flower  withered 
by  a  too  fierce  sunbeam." 

And  the  old  man  wept. 


II 


SERAPHITA 

During  the  evening,  David  entered  the  parlor  once 
more. 

"  I  know  whom  you  have  come  to  announce," 
said  Seraphita,  in  a  sleepy  voice.  "  Wilfrid  may 
come  in." 

Overhearing  the  words,  a  man  suddenly  appeared, 
and  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"  My  dear  Seraphita,  are  you  ill?  You  seem  paler 
than  usual." 

She  turned  slowly  toward  him,  after  pushing  her 
hair  back  from  her  forehead  like  a  pretty  woman 
who  is  so  overdone  by  headache  that  she  no  longer 
has  strength  to  complain. 

"I  committed  the  folly  of  crossing  the  fiord  with 
Minna;  we  climbed  the  Falberg." 

"  Did  you  want  to  kill  yourself?"  he  exclaimed, 
with  the  terror  of  a  lover. 

"  Have  no  fear,  my  good  Wilfrid,  I  took  the  best 
care  of  your  Minna." 

Wilfrid  struck  the  table  violently  with  his  hand, 
rose  and  walked  toward  the  door,  uttering  a  sorrowful 

12  (177) 


178  SERAPHITA 

exclamation,  then  returned,  and  tried  to  express  his 
grievance  in  words. 

"  Why  this  uproar  if  you  think  I  am  ill?"  queried 
Seraphita. 

"Forgive  me!  have  mercy  on  me!"  he  replied, 
kneeling  beside  her.  "  Speak  harshly  to  me,  demand 
of  me  whatever  is  hardest  to  endure  of  all  that  your 
pitiless  woman's  caprice  may  suggest  to  you;  but, 
my  beloved,  do  not  cast  a  doubt  upon  my  love. 
You  use  Minna  for  an  axe,  and  rain  blows  upon  me. 
Mercy!" 

"Why  say  such  words  to  me,  my  friend,  when 
you  know  they  are  of  no  avail?"  she  replied,  glan- 
cing at  him  with  an  expression  which  finally  became 
so  soft  that  Wilfrid  no  longer  saw  Seraphita's  eyes, 
but  a  sort  of  liquid  light,  whose  trembling  resem- 
bled the  last  echoes  of  a  melody  instinct  with  Italian 
sweetness. 

"Ah!  one  does  not  die  of  suffering,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  whose 
vibrations  produced  an  effect  upon  his  heart  similar 
to  that  produced  by  her  glance.  "  What  can  I  do 
for  you?" 

"  Love  me  as  I  love  you." 

"  Poor  Minna!"  she  replied. 

"  1  never  go  armed!"  cried  Wilfrid. 

"You  are  in  a  vile  mood,"  said  Seraphita,  with  a 
smile.  "  Did  I  not  speak  like  those  Parisian  women 
of  whose  love-affairs  you  tell  me?" 

Wilfrid  resumed  his  seat,  folded  his  arms,  and 
gazed  gloomily  at  Seraphita. 


SERAPHITA  179 

"I  forgive  you,"  he  said,  "for  you  know  not 
what  you  do." 

"Oh!"  she  retorted,  "ever  since  the  days  of 
Eve,  women  have  always  done  both  good  and  evil 
knowingly." 

"  I  believe  it,"  he  said. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  Wilfrid.  Our  instinct  is  pre- 
cisely what  makes  us.  so  perfect.  What  you  men 
learn  we  women  instinctively  feel." 

"Then,  why  do  you  not  feel  how  dearly  I  love 
you?" 

"  Because  you  do  not  love  me." 

"  Great  God  !" 

"  Why  do  you  complain  so  of  your  suffering?" 
she  asked.  i 

"  You  are  terrible  to-night,  Seraphita.  You  are  a 
veritable  demon." 

"  No,  I  am  simply  blessed  with  the  faculty  of 
comprehension,  and  that  is  frightful.  Grief,  Wilfrid, 
is  a  light  that  illumines  life  for  us." 

"Why  did  you  climb  the  Falberg,  I  pray  to 
know?" 

"  Minna  will  tell  you.  I  am  too  tired  to  talk.  Do 
you  talk,  you  who  know  everything,  have  learned 
everything,  and  forgotten  nothing,  and  have  passed 
through  so  many  social  tests.  Entertain  me,  I  am 
listening." 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you  that  you  do  not  know? 
Indeed,  your  very  question  is  a  mockery.  You 
admit  nothing  that  exists  in  the  world,  you  distort  its 
nomenclature,  you  trample  on  its  laws,  its  manners, 


ISO  SERAPHITA 

its  feelings,  its  learning,  reducing  them  to  the  pro- 
portions that  they  seem  to  possess  when  one  views 
them  from  outside  the  globe." 

"  You  see,  my  friend,  that  I  am  not  a  woman. 
You  are  wrong  to  love  me.  I  descend  from  the 
ethereal  regions  of  my  pretended  power,  I  make 
myself  humbly  small,  I  bow  my  head  after  the 
manner  of  the  poor  females  of  every  species,  and 
lo!  you  at  once  exalt  me  again!  In  a  word,  I  am 
broken  in  pieces,  shattered,  I  appeal  to  you  for  help, 
I  need  your  arm,  and  you  repulse  me;  we  do  not 
understand  each  other." 

"You  are  more  wicked  to-night  than  I  have  ever 
seen  you." 

"  Wicked!"  she  repeated,  flashing  a  glance  at  him 
by  which  all  his  sentiments  were  blended  in  a  divine 
sensation.  "  No,  I  am  not  well;  that  is  all.  So  leave 
me,  my  friend.  Are  you  not  abusing  your  rights  as 
a  man?  It  is  our  duty  always  to  please  you,  to 
enliven  you,  to  be  always  gay,  and  to  have  no  other 
whims  than  those  that  amuse  you.  What  shall  I  do, 
my  friend?  Do  you  expect  me  to  sing  or  to  dance, 
when  fatigue  deprives  me  of  the  use  of  voice  and 
legs?  Though  we  be  at  our  last  gasp,  my  masters, 
we  must  still  smile  upon  you!  You  call  that  reign- 
ing, I  believe.  The  poor  women!  I  pity  them.  Tell 
me,  have  they  neither  heart  nor  mind,  that  you 
abandon  them  when  they  grow  old?  Very  well, 
Wilfrid,  I  am  more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  so 
begone!  go  to  Minna's  feet." 

"Oh!  my  eternal  love!" 


SERAPHITA  l8l 

"  Do  you  know  what  eternity  is?  Hush,  Wilfrid. 
You  desire  me,  but  you  do  not  love  me.  Tell  me, 
do  I  not  remind  you  of  some  flirt?" 

"  Oh!  it  is  true  that  I  no  longer  recognize  in  you 
the  pure  young  girl  whom  I  saw  for  the  first  time  in 
Jarvis  church." 

At  those  words,  Seraphita  passed  her  hands  across 
her  forehead,  and  when  she  uncovered  her  face, 
Wilfrid  was  amazed  by  the  devout  and  saintlike 
expression  it  wore. 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend.  I  am  always  foolish 
to  set  my  foot  on  your  earth." 

"Yes,  dear  Seraphita,  be  my  star,  and  do  not 
leave  the  place  whence  you  shed  such  a  bright  light 
upon  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  put  out  his  hand  to  take  hers,  but 
she  withdrew  it,  with  no  sign  of  disdain  or  anger. 
Wilfrid  rose  abruptly  and  walked  to  the  window, 
turning  his  back  so  that  Seraphita  might  not  see  the 
tears  that  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  weep?"  she  said.  "You  are  no 
longer  a  child,  Wilfrid.  Come,  come  back  to  me,  I 
insist  upon  it.  You  sulk  when  I  ought  to  be  angry. 
You  see  that  I  am  ill,  and  you  compel  me,  by  your 
absurd  doubts,  to  think,  to  speak,  or  to  share  whims 
and  ideas  that  weary  me.  If  you  had  the  intelli- 
gence that  is  a  part  of  my  nature,  you  would  have 
sung  to  me,  you  would  have  soothed  my  ennui  to 
sleep;  but  you  love  me  for  yourself  and  not  for  me." 

The  storm  that  was  raging  in  Wilfrid's  heart  was 
suddenly  calmed  by  these  words;  he  drew  near 


1 82  SERAPHITA 

slowly,  the  better  to  contemplate  the  ravishing  crea- 
ture who  lay  stretched  out  before  his  eyes,  reclining 
gracefully,  leaning  on  her  elbow  in  a  seductive  posi- 
tion, her  head  on  her  hand. 

"You  think  that  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  You  are, mistaken.  Listen  to  me,  Wilfrid. 
You  are  beginning  to  know  much,  for  you  have 
suffered  much.  Let  me  tell  you  your  thoughts. 
Would  you  like  to  take  my  hand?" 

She  rose  to  a  sitting  position,  and  in  her  fascinat- 
ing movements  she  seemed  to  radiate  light. 

"  Does  not  a  maiden  who  allows  her  hand  to  be 
taken  make  a  promise,  and  should  she  not  fulfil  it? 
You  know  well  that  I  cannot  be  yours.  Two  senti- 
ments govern  the  passions  that  captivate  earthly 
women.  Either  they  devote  themselves  to  suffering, 
degraded,  criminal  beings,  whom  they  seek  to  con- 
sole, to  raise  from  their  degradation,  to  redeem;  or 
they  give  themselves  to  beings  of  superior  mould, 
sublime  and  strong,  whom  they  seek  to  understand 
and  to  worship,  and  by  whom  they  are  often  crushed. 
You  have  been  degraded,  but  you  have  purified 
yourself  in  the  fire  of  repentance,  and  you  are  great 
to-day;  I  feel  that  I  am  too  weak  to  be  your  equal, 
and  I  am  too  religious  to  humble  myself  to  any  power 
other  than  that  of  the  Most  High.  Your  life,  my 
friend,  may  be  interpreted  thus:  we  are  in  the  North, 
among  the  clouds,  where  abstractions  are  current." 

"You  kill  me,  Seraphita,  when  you  talk  so,"  he 
replied.  "  It  always  pains  me  to  see  you  make  use 
of  the  abnormal  knowledge  with  which  you  strip  all 


SERAPHITA  183 

human  things  of  the  properties  imparted  to  them  by 
time,  space,  and  form,  to  analyze  them  mathemati- 
cally by  some  scientific  process  or  other,  as  geom- 
etry treats  the  bodies  whose  solidity  it  abstracts." 

"  Very  well,  Wilfrid,  I  will  obey  you.  Let  us 
drop  the  subject.  How  do  you  like  that  bear-skin 
rug  my  poor  David  has  placed  there?" 

"  Why,  very  much." 

"  You  did  not  know  that  I  had  this  doucha  greka, 
did  you?" 

It  was  a  sort  of  cloak,  made  of  cashmere  lined 
with  black  fox,  the  name  signifying  warm  to  the 
heart. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  any  sovereign  of  any  court 
possesses  such  a  piece  of  fur?" 

"  It  is  worthy  of  her  who  wears  it." 

"And  whom  you  consider  very  fair?" 

"  Mere  human  words  are  not  suited  to  her,  one 
must  speak  to  her  heart  to  heart." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Wilfrid,  to  soothe  my  weari- 
ness with  sweet  words — which  you  have  said  to 
others." 

"Farewell!" 

"  Stay.  I  love  you  well,  you  and  Minna,  doubt 
it  not !  But  I  think  of  you  as  blended  in  a  sin- 
gle being.  So  united,  you  are  a  brother,  or,  if 
you  please,  a  sister  to  me.  Marry,  so  that  I  may 
see  you  happy  before  leaving  this  sphere  of  pain 
and  trials  forever.  Great  Heaven,  simple-minded 
women  have  obtained  everything  from  their  lovers! 
They  have  said  to  them:  '  Hold  your  peace!'  And 


1 84  SERAPHITA 

they  have  become  mute.  They  have  said  to  them: 
'Die!'  And  they  have  died.  They  have  said  to 
them:  'Love  me  from  afar!'  And  they  have  re- 
mained at  a  distance,  like  courtiers  before  a  king. 
They  have  said  to  them:  'Marry!'  And  they  have 
married.  But  I  wish  you  to  be  happy  and  you 
refuse  me.  Am  I,  then,  powerless?  Ah!  well, 
Wilfrid,  listen,  come  nearer  to  me:  yes,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  see  you  marry  Minna;  but,  when  I  am  no 
longer  with  you,  then  promise  me  that  you  will  be 
joined  to  her;  Heaven  destined  you  for  each  other." 

"  I  have  listened  to  you  with  delight,  Seraphita. 
Incomprehensible  as  your  words  are,  they  charm 
the  ear.  But  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  are  right,  I  forget  to  be  foolish,  to  be  the 
poor  creature  whose  weakness  pleases  you.  I  annoy 
you,  and  you  came  to  this  uncivilized  region  in 
search  of  repose,  exhausted  as  you  were  by  the 
fierce  assaults  of  an  unappreciated  genius,  overdone 
by  the  patient  toil  of  science — you  who  have  almost 
dipped  your  hands  in  crime  and  worn  the  chains  of 
human  justice." 

Wilfrid  had  fallen  half -dead  on  the  floor.  But 
Seraphita  breathed  on  the  young  man's  brow,  and 
he  instantly  fell  asleep  quietly  at  her  feet. 

"  Sleep  and  rest,"  she  said,  rising  from  her  seat. 

She  placed  her  hands  upon  Wilfrid's  head,  and 
the  following  sentences  followed  one  another  from 
her  lips,  each  in  a  different  tone  from  the  others,  but 
melodious  all,  and  stamped  with  a  kindliness  that 
seemed  to  emanate  in  misty  waves  like  the  beams 


SERAPHITA  185 

with  which  the  profane  goddess  chastely  envelops 
the  beloved  shepherd  during  his  sleep: 

"  I  may  show  myself  to  you  as  I  am,  dear  Wilfrid, 
for  you  are  strong. 

"  The  hour  has  come,  the  hour  when  the  brilliant 
gleams  of  the  future  cast  their  reflections  upon  men's 
souls,  the  hour  when  the  soul  bestirs  itself  in  its 
freedom. 

"  Now,  I  may  venture  to  tell  you  how  dearly  I 
love  you.  Do  you  not  see  what  sort  of  love  mine 
is,  a  love  devoid  of  any  selfish  interest,  a  sentiment 
concerned  with  you  alone,  a  love  that  follows  you 
into  the  future  to  illumine  the  future  for  you?  for 
such  a  love  is  the  true  light.  Now  can  you  compre- 
hend how  ardently  I  long  to  know  that  you  are  quit 
of  this  life  which  weighs  upon  you,  and  to  see  you 
even  nearer  than  you  are  to  the  world  where  love  en- 
dures forever?  Must  not  one  suffer  who  loves  for  a 
lifetime  only?  Have  you  never  felt  a  longing  for 
everlasting  love?  Do  you  understand  now  to  what 
ravishing  joy  a  creature  rises,  when  she  has  a  two- 
fold nature  to  love  him  who  never  betrays  love,  him 
at  whose  feet  men  kneel  in  adoration  ? 

"  I  would  that  I  had  wings,  Wilfrid,  that  I  might 
shelter  you  with  them,  I  would  that  I  had  strength 
to  give  you  to  enable  you  to  enter  before  your  time 
the  world  where  the  purest  bliss  of  the  purest  pas- 
sion that  is  known  on  this  earth  would  be  a  shadow 
in  the  light  that  constantly  illumines  and  gladdens 
the  heart. 

"  Forgive  a  loving  heart  for  having  put  before  you 


1 86  SERAPHITA 

in  a  word  the  picture  of  your  faults,  with  the  char- 
itable purpose  of  soothing  the  sharp  sting  of  your 
remorse!  Hearken  to  the  musical  strains  of  pardon! 
Refresh  your  heart  by  breathing  the  air  of  the  dawn 
that  is  breaking  for  you  beyond  the  darkness  of 
death.  Yes,  your  life  lies  beyond  ! 

"  May  my  words  reproduce  the  radiant  forms  of 
your  dreams,  may  they  deck  themselves  with  images, 
blaze  forth,  and  descend  upon  you.  Ascend,  ascend 
to  the  point  where  all  men  can  see  one  another  dis- 
tinctly, although  as  closely  crowded  together  and  as 
small  as  the  grains  of  sand  on  the  seashore.  Man- 
kind has  unrolled  like  a  piece  of  ribbon;  observe  the 
varying  shades  of  that  flower  from  the  celestial 
gardens.  Do  you  see  those  who  lack  intelligence, 
those  who  are  beginning  to  acquire  it,  those  who 
have  been  tested,  those  who  are  in  love,  those 
who  are  wise  and  who  aspire  to  the  world  of  light? 

"  Do  you  comprehend  by  this  visible  thought  the 
destiny  of  mankind?  whence  it  comes  and  whither  it 
goes?  Continue  in  your  course!  When  you  reach 
the  goal  of  your  journey,  you  will  hear  the  trumpets 
of  Omnipotence  ring  out  and  shouts  of  victory  re- 
sound, and  chords  of  which  a  single  one  would  cause 
the  earth  to  tremble,  but  which  lose  themselves  in  a 
world  without  east  or  west. 

"Do  you  understand,  my  poor  sorely-tried  love, 
that,  were  it  not  for  the  lethargy,  the  mists  of  sleep, 
such  spectacles  would  rend  and  whirl  away  your  in- 
telligence, as  a  tempest  rends  and  whirls  away  a 
feeble  sail,  and  would  deprive  a  man  of  his  reason 


SERAPHITA  187 

forever?  do  you  know  that  the  soul  alone,  when 
raised  to  its  omnipotence,  is  hardly  able  to  resist 
in  dreams  the  devouring  communications  of  the 
Spirit? 

"  Fly  on  through  the  radiant  and  luminous  spheres, 
admiring  as  you  go.  Flying  thus,  you  obtain  rest, 
you  proceed  without  fatigue.  Like  all  men,  you 
would  like  to  remain  always  in  those  spheres  of 
sweet  perfume  and  of  light  to  which  you  are  going, 
light  as  air  throughout  your  unconscious  body,  and 
where  you  will  speak  by  thought!  Run,  fly,  enjoy 
for  a  moment  the  wings  you  will  win,  when  love  is 
so  complete  within  you  that  you  will  cease  to  have 
passions,  that  you  will  be  all  intelligence  and  all  love! 
The  higher  you  ascend,  the  less  you  think  of  preci- 
pices! there  are  no  precipices  in  heaven.  Observe 
him  who  speaks  to  you,  him  who  supports  you  above 
the  world  in  which  the  precipices  are.  Look,  gaze  at 
me  a  moment  more,  for  henceforth  you  will  see  me 
only  indistinctly  as  you  see  me  by  the  light  of  the 
pale,  earthly  sun." 

Seraphita  rose  to  her  feet,  her  head  slightly  bent, 
her  hair  dishevelled,  in  the  ethereal  attitude  in  which 
all  the  sublimest  painters  have  represented  mes- 
sengers from  on  high;  the  folds  of  her  clothing  had 
the  same  indefinable  charm  that  forces  the  artist — the 
man  who  translates  everything  by  sentiment — to 
pause  before  the  exquisite  lines  of  the  veiled  an- 
tique Polyhymnia.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand, 
and  Wilfrid  rose.  When  he  looked  at  Seraphita,  the 
pale  young  girl  was  lying  on  the  bear-skin,  her  head 


1 88  SERAPHITA 

resting  on  her  hand,  her  features  tranquil,  her  eyes 
gleaming.  Wilfrid  gazed  silently  at  her,  but  a  re- 
spectful fear  was  visible  in  his  face  and  betrayed 
itself  in  his  timid  manner. 

"  Yes,  dear  one,"  he  said,  at  last,  as  if  he  were 
answering  a  question,  "  we  are  separated  by  whole 
worlds.  I  am  resigned,  and  I  can  only  worship  you. 
But  what  will  become  of  poor  me,  when  I  am  all 
alone?" 

"  Have  you  not  your  Minna,  Wilfrid?" 

He  hung  his  head. 

"  Oh!  do  not  be  so  disdainful;  woman  understands 
everything  through  love;  when  she  does  not  under- 
stand, she  feels;  when  she  does  not  feel,  she  sees; 
when  she  neither  sees  nor  feels  nor  understands, 
why,  then  that  terrestrial  angel  divines  your  exist- 
ence in  order  to  protect  you,  and  conceals  her  pro- 
tection beneath  the  fascination  of  love." 

"  Seraphita,  am  I  worthy  to  belong  to  a  woman?" 

"You  have  suddenly  become  very  modest;  can  it 
be  a  snare?  A  woman  is  always  so  moved  to  see 
her  weakness  glorified  !  But  come  to  drink  tea  with 
me  on  the  day  after  to-morrow,  in  the  afternoon; 
good  Monsieur  Becker  will  be  here,  and  you  will  see 
Minna,  the  most  innocent  creature  whom  I  know  in 
this  world.  Now  leave  me,  my  friend;  I  have  to 
pray  at  great  length  to  expiate  my  sins." 

"How  can  you  sin?" 

"My  poor  dear,  is  it  not  pride  to  abuse  one's 
power?  I  think  I  have  been  too  proud  to-day. 
Come,  away  with  you.  Farewell  until  to-morrow." 


SERAPHITA  189 

"  Until  to-morrow,"  echoed  Wilfrid  in  a  feeble 
voice,  gazing  long  at  the  creature  before  him,  for  he 
wished  to  carry  away  an  ineffaceable  picture  of  her 
in  his  heart. 

Although  he  intended  to  go  away,  he  stood  for 
some  time  outside  the  Swedish  chateau,  looking  at 
the  light  that  shone  through  the  windows. 

"  What  have  I  seen?"  he  asked  himself.  "  She 
is  not  a  mere  creature,  she  is  a  whole  creation.  Of 
this  world,  dimly  seen  through  mists  and  clouds,  I 
retain  faint  echoes,  like  the  memory  of  a  vanished 
grief,  or  like  the  confused  state  caused  by  dreams  in 
which  we  hear  the  lamentations  of  bygone  genera- 
tions mingled  with  the  melodious  voices  from  the 
exalted  spheres  where  all  is  light  and  love.  Am  I 
awake?  Am  I  still  sleeping?  Have  I  rescued  my  eyes 
from  sleep,  those  eyes  from  which  luminous  spaces 
recede  indefinitely,  and  which  follow  the  spaces? 
Despite  the  cold  night  air,  my  head  is  still  on  fire. 
I  will  go  to  the  parsonage!  with  the  pastor  and  his 
daughter,  I  shall  be  able  to  collect  my  thoughts." 

But  not  yet  did  he  leave  the  spot  from  which  he 
could  look  into  Seraphita's  salon.  That  mysterious 
creature  seemed  to  be  the  radiating  circle  of  an  at- 
mosphere which  formed  about  her,  greater  in  extent 
than  that  of  other  beings;  whoever  entered  it  under- 
went the  influence  of  an  eddying  whirl  of  dazzling 
beams  and  consuming  thoughts.  Forced  to  struggle 
against  that  inexplicable  force,  Wilfrid  did  not  tri- 
umph over  it  without  a  superhuman  effort;  but  after 
he  had  passed  beyond  the  precincts  of  that  house,  he 


190  SERAPHITA 

recovered  his  freedom  of  action,  hurried  away  to  the 
parsonage,  and  soon  found  himself  beneath  the  high 
wooden  archway  that  served  as  a  peristyle  to  Mon- 
sieur Becker's  dwelling.  He  opened  the  first  door, 
sheathed  with  newer,  against  which  the  wind  had 
driven  the  snow,  and  knocked  hastily  at  the  inner 
door,  saying: 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  pass  the  evening  with  you, 
Monsieur  Becker?" 

"  Yes!"  cried  two  voices  as  one. 

Upon  entering  the  parlor,  Wilfrid  gradually  re- 
turned to  real  life.  He  saluted  Minna  most  affec- 
tionately, pressed  Monsieur  Becker's  hand,  and 
contemplated  a  picture  whose  details  calmed  the 
convulsions  of  his  physical  nature,  in  which  a  phe- 
nomenon took  place  comparable  to  that  which  some- 
times takes  place  in  men  accustomed  to  prolonged 
meditations.  If  some  pregnant  thought  bears  away 
a  scholar  or  a  poet  on  its  chimera's  wings  and  re- 
moves him  from  the  external  circumstances  that 
hedge  him  in  on  earth,  whirling  him  through  the 
boundless  regions  where  the  vastest  collections  of 
fact  become  abstractions,  where  the  most  stupen- 
dous works  of  nature  are  mere  images,  woe  to 
him,  if  some  sudden  sound  strikes  upon  his  senses 
and  recalls  his  adventurous  mind  to  its  prison  of 
flesh  and  blood  !  The  conflict  between  those  two 
powers,  the  body  and  the  mind,  one  of  which  par- 
takes of  the  property  of  invisible  action  possessed  by 
the  lightning,  while  the  other  shares  with  sentient 
nature  that  yielding  resistance  which  momentarily 


SERAPHITA  IQI 

defies  destruction;  that  conflict,  or,  better  still,  that 
horrible  conjunction,  engenders  indescribable  suffer- 
ing. The  body  demands  the  return  of  the  flame 
that  consumes  it,  and  the  flame  seizes  its  prey  anew. 
But  that  fusion  does  not  take  place  without  the  effer- 
vescence, the  explosions,  and  the  torments  which 
we  see  in  chemistry  when  two  antagonistic  ele- 
ments, which  it  has  striven  to  unite,  are  separated. 
For  some  days  past,  whenever  Wilfrid  entered  Sera- 
phita's  presence,  his  body  fell  into  an  abyss.  By 
a  single  glance,  that  strange  creature  led  him  in 
thought  to  the  sphere  to  which  meditation  leads  the 
scholar,  to  which  prayer  transports  the  religious 
mind,  to  which  his  visions  entice  an  artist,  to  which 
sleep  carries  some  men;  for  every  man  has  his  voice 
to  beckon  him  to  the  higher  abysses,  every  man  has 
his  guide  to  direct  his  steps  thither,  and  one  and 
all  suffer  on  their  return.  There  only  are  the  veils 
torn  away,  there  only  does  Revelation  show  itself  in 
its  nakedness,  a  dazzling,  awful  disclosure  of  an  un- 
known world,  of  which  the  mind  brings  back  to  earth 
naught  but  fragments.  To  Wilfrid  an  hour  passed 
with  Seraphita  often  resembled  the  dreams  the  theri- 
akis  love,  in  which  each  nervous  papilla  becomes 
a  centre  of  delirious  enjoyment.  He  left  her  pres- 
ence as  exhausted  as  a  young  girl  who  had  worn 
herself  out  following  a  giant.  The  cold  air  began  to 
allay  by  its  stinging  blows  the  morbid  excitement 
caused  by  the  combination  of  his  two  violently 
sundered  natures ;  then  he  always  went  back  to 
the  parsonage,  drawn  to  Minna  by  the  thought  of  the 


IQ2  SERAPHITA 

tranquil  home  life  for  which  he  thirsted,  as  a  Euro- 
pean traveller  thirsts  for  his  native  land  when  home- 
sickness seizes  him  amid  the  fairy-like  scenes  that 
lured  him  to  the  Orient.  At  that  moment,  more 
exhausted  than  he  had  ever  been,  the  stranger 
sank  into  an  armchair,  and  stared  about  for  some 
time  like  a  man  just  waking.  Monsieur  Becker  and 
his  daughter,  evidently  accustomed  to  their  guest's 
peculiarities,  both  continued  to  work. 

The  ornaments  of  the  parlor  consisted  of  a  collec- 
tion of  Norwegian  insects  and  shells.  Those  curiosi- 
ties, skilfully  arranged  upon  the  yellow  background 
of  the  fir  with  which  the  walls  were  wainscoted, 
formed  a  rich  tapestry  to  which  tobacco  smoke  had 
imparted  its  dingy  tint.  At  the  rear  of  the  room, 
opposite  the  doorway,  was  an  enormous  wrought- 
iron  stove,  which,  under  the  careful  rubbing  of  the 
maid-servant,  shone  like  polished  steel.  Seated  in  a 
capacious  upholstered  easy-chair,  in  front  of  a  table 
near  the  stove,  with  his  feet  in  a  sort  of  foot-bag, 
Monsieur  Becker  was  reading  a  huge  folio  which 
rested  upon  a  pile  of  books  as  upon  a  desk;  at  his 
left  were  a  jug  of  beer  and  a  glass;  at  his  right  was 
a  smoky  fish-oil  lamp.  The  clergyman  seemed  to 
be  a  man  of  some  sixty  years.  His  face  was  of  the 
type  familiar  to  Rembrandt's  brush;  there  were 
the  small,  bright  eyes,  encircled  by  wrinkles  and 
overhung  by  thick  grizzly  eyebrows;  the  white  hair 
escaping  in  two  fleecy  waves  from  beneath  a  black 
velvet  cap,  the  broad,  smooth  forehead,  the  peculiar 
shape  of  the  face,  made  almost  square  by  the  great 


SERAPHITA  193 

size  of  the  chin;  then  there  was  the  profound  tran- 
quillity which  indicates  to  the  careful  observer  power 
in  some  direction,  either  the  royalty  that  wealth  be- 
stows, the  magisterial  power  of  the  burgomaster, 
the  consciousness  of  artistic  talent,  or  the  cubical 
strength  of  happy  ignorance.  That  handsome  old 
man,  whose  rotundity  denoted  robust  health,  was 
enveloped  in  a  dressing-gown  of  coarse  cloth,  simply 
trimmed  with  list.  He  was  puffing  gravely  at  a  long 
meerschaum  pipe,  and  at  regular  intervals  emitted  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  following  with  distraught  eye  its 
fantastic  wreaths,  engaged,  doubtless,  in  assimilating 
by  some  process  of  mental  digestion  the  ideas  of  the 
author  whose  work  he  had  in  hand. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  stove,  -near  a  door  lead- 
ing to  the  kitchen,  Minna's  form  could  be  vaguely 
distinguished  in  the  fog  produced  by  the  smoke,  to 
which  she  seemed  thoroughly  habituated.  On  a 
small  table  before  her  were  the  necessary  utensils 
of  a  housewife:  a  pile  of  napkins,  stockings  to  be 
darned,  and  a  lamp  like  that  which  gleamed  on  the 
white  pages  of  the  book  in  which  her  father  seemed 
to  be  absorbed.  Her  fresh  young  face,  whose  con- 
tour was  of  extreme  delicacy  and  purity,  harmonized 
with  the  innocence  written  upon  her  white  brow 
and  in  her  limpid  eyes.  She  sat  erect  upon  her 
chair,  bending  toward  the  light  a  little  in  order  to 
see  better,  and  displayed  unwittingly  the  beauty  of 
her  figure.  She  was  already  dressed  for  the  night 
in  a  peignoir  of  white  cotton.  A  simple  lawn  cap, 
with  no  other  ornament  than  a  ruff  of  the  same 
13 


194  SERAPHITA 

material,  covered  her  hair.  Although  buried  in 
some  secret  reflection,  she  counted,  without  a  mis- 
take, the  threads  of  her  napkin  or  the  stitches  of 
her  stocking.  Thus  she  presented  the  truest  and 
most  perfect  type  of  the  woman  destined  for  house- 
hold duties,  whose  glance  might  pierce  the  clouds 
around  the  sanctuary,  but  who  was  held  back  at 
man's  level  by  a  thought  at  once  humble  and  chari- 
table. 

Wilfrid  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chair  between 
the  two  tables,  and  gazed  with  a  sort  of  bewilder- 
ment at  that  harmonious  picture,  with  which  the 
clouds  of  smoke  were  not  out  of  keeping. 

The  single  window  by  which  the  parlor  was 
lighted  during  the  summer  was  carefully  closed.  In 
lieu  of  curtains,  an  old  piece  of  tapestry  hung  in  great 
folds  from  a  wooden  rod.  There  was  nothing  pic- 
turesque, nothing  striking,  but  absolute  simplicity, 
genuine  kindliness,  the  unreserve  of  nature,  and  all 
the  customs  of  domestic  life,  undisturbed  and  free 
from  care.  Many  dwellings  have  the  appearance  of 
a  dream,  the  glitter  of  the  pleasures  that  are  tasted 
therein  seems  to  conceal  ruins  beneath  the  cold 
smile  of  luxury;  but  that  parlor  was  sublime  in  its 
reality,  harmonious  in  its  coloring,  and  awoke  the 
patriarchal  theory  of  a  busy,  meditative  life.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  the  footsteps  of  the  servant 
as  she  prepared  the  supper,  and  by  the  sizzling  of 
the  dried  fish  which  she  was  frying  in  salt  butter 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  country. 

"  Will  you  smoke  a  pipe?"  said  the  pastor,  seizing 


SERAPHITA  195 

a  moment  when  he  thought  that  Wilfrid  could  hear 
him. 

"Thanks,  dear  Monsieur  Becker." 

"You  seem  to  be  feeling  worse  than  usual 
to-day,"  said  Minna,  impressed  by  the  weakness 
betrayed  in  the  stranger's  voice. 

"  I  am  always  like  this  when  I  come  from  the 
chateau." 

Minna  started. 

"  It  is  occupied  by  a  strange  person,  pastor,"  he 
continued,  after  a  pause.  "  During  the  six  months 
I  have  been  in  this  village,  I  have  not  dared  to  ask 
you  any  questions  about  her,  and  I  am  obliged  to  do 
myself  violence  in  order  to  speak  to  you  of  her  to- 
day. I  began  by  regretting  very  keenly  that  my 
journey  was  interrupted  by  the  coming  of  winter 
and  that  I  was  compelled  to  remain  here;  but,  in 
these  last  two  months,  the  chains  that  bind  me  to 
Jarvis  have  been  more  firmly  riveted  every  day, 
and  I  am  afraid  of  ending  my  days  here.  You 
know  how  I  met  Seraphita,  how  great  an  impression 
her  features  and  her  voice  made  upon  me,  and  how  I 
was  at  last  admitted  to  her  house,  although  she  will 
never  consent  to  receive  anyone.  On  the  first  day, 
I  returned  here  to  ask  you  to  enlighten  me  concern- 
ing that  mysterious  creature.  Then  began  for  me 
the  series  of  enchantments — " 

"Enchantments!"  cried  the  pastor,  shaking  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  into  a  common  plate  filled  with 
sand,  which  he  used  as  a  cuspidor.  "  Is  there  such 
a  thing  as  enchantment?" 


IQ6  SERAPHITA 

"Certainly,  you  who  are  at  this  moment  read- 
ing so  conscientiously  Jean  Wier's  Incantations,  will 
understand  such  description  as  I  am  able  to  give 
you  of  my  sensations,"  Wilfrid  replied,  without 
hesitation.  "If  one  studies  nature  attentively,  in 
its  greatest  upheavals  as  well  as  in  its  most  trivial 
works,  it  is  impossible  not  to  recognize  the  possi- 
bility of  enchantment,  giving  that  word  its  true 
meaning.  Man  does  not  create  forces,  he  employs 
the  only  one  which  exists  and  which  includes  them 
all,  motion,  the  inexplicable  breath  of  the  Sovereign 
Maker  of  worlds.  The  species  are  too  thoroughly 
separated  to  be  blended  by  the  hand  of  man;  and 
the  only  miracle  of  which  that  hand  was  capable 
was  accomplished  in  the  union  of  two  repugnant  sub- 
stances. But  powder  is  germane  to  lightning!  As 
to  the  creation  of  some  new  thing,  and  suddenly! 
why,  creation  demands  time  under  all  circumstances, 
and  time  neither  advances  nor  recedes  under  the 
finger.  And  so,  outside  of  ourselves,  plastic  nature 
acts  in  obedience  to  laws  whose  order  and  practice 
can  never  be  disarranged  by  any  man's  hand.  But, 
having  thus  disposed  of  material  things,  it  would  be 
unreasonable  not  to  recognize  in  ourselves  the  exist- 
ence of  a  tremendous  power,  the  effects  of  which 
are  so  immeasurable  that  generations  past  have 
never  classified  them  perfectly.  I  do  not  refer  to 
the  faculty  of  separating  yourself  from  your  sur- 
roundings, of  constraining  nature  to  confine  itself 
within  the  limits  of  the  word, — the  act  of  a  giant, 
upon  which  the  common  herd  reflects  no  more  than 


SERAPHITA  197 

it  thinks  of  motion,  but  which  had  led  the  Indian 
Theosophists  to  explain  creation  by  a  word  to  which 
they  attributed  the  inverse  power.  The  smallest 
morsel  of  their  food,  a  grain  of  rice,  from  which  a 
creation  goes  forth  and  in  which  a  creation  is 
contained  alternately,  presented  to  their  minds  so 
perfect  an  image  of  the  word  that  creates  and 
the  word  that  abstracts,  that  it  seemed  very  simple 
to  apply  that  theory  to  the  creation  of  worlds.  The 
majority  of  men  were  certain  to  content  themselves 
with  the  grain  of  rice  sown  in  the  first  verse  of 
all  geneses.  Saint  John's  saying  that  the  Word 
was  in  God  served  only  to  complicate  the  difficulty. 
But  the  sowing,  the  germination,  and  the  blossoming 
of  our  ideas  are  trivial  matters,  if  we  compare  those 
properties,  common  to  many  men,  to  the  truly  in- 
dividual power  of  communicating  to  those  properties 
a  more  or  less  vigorous  strength  by  some  indefinable 
process  of  concentration,  of  raising  them  to  the  third, 
the  ninth,  the  twenty-seventh  power,  of  making 
them  in  that  way  take  hold  of  the  masses,  and  of 
obtaining  magical  results  by  condensing  the  effects 
of  nature. 

"  Now,  I  give  the  name  of  enchantments  to  those 
extraordinary  antics  played  by  two  membranes  on 
the  canvas  of  our  brains.  In  the  unexplored  wilds 
of  the  spiritual  world  there  are  certain  beings  who 
are  armed  with  these  incredible  faculties,  which 
may  fitly  be  compared  to  the  terrible  power  pos- 
sessed by  gases  in  the  physical  world,  and  who  com- 
bine with  other  beings,  permeate  them  as  an  active 


198  SERAPHITA 

principle,  produce  within  them  effects  as  of  sorcery, 
against  which  the  poor  slaves  are  defenceless;  they 
bewitch  them,  rule  them,  reduce  them  to  a  horrible 
state  of  serfdom,  and  impose  upon  them  the  grandeur 
and  the  sceptre  of  a  superior  nature,  acting  some- 
times after  the  manner  of  the  electric  eel,  which  mag- 
netizes and  benumbs  the  fisherman;  sometimes  like 
a  dose  of  phosphorus,  which  overexcites  the  faculties 
or  accelerates  the  currents  of  life;  sometimes  like 
opium,  which  puts  the  bodily  nature  to  sleep,  re- 
leases the  mind  from  its  bonds,  allows  it  to  soar 
above  the  world,  shows  the  world  to  it  through  a 
prism,  and  extracts  therefrom  the  sustenance  that 
most  delights  it;  and  sometimes  like  catalepsy,  which 
deadens  all  the  faculties  for  the  benefit  of  a  single 
vision.  Miracles,  enchantments,  incantations,  sor- 
cery, in  a  word,  all  the  acts  improperly  called  super- 
natural, are  possible,  and  can  be  explained  only  as  a 
result  of  the  despotism  with  which  a  mind  forces  us 
to  undergo  the  effects  of  a  mysterious  optical  illu- 
sion, which  enlarges,  diminishes,  exalts  the  faculty 
of  creation,  makes  it  move  within  us  at  its  pleasure, 
disfigures  or  embellishes  it  in  our  eyes,  takes  us  to 
heaven  or  plunges  us  into  hell, — the  two  terms 
by  which  extreme  pleasure  and  extreme  pain  are  ex- 
pressed. These  phenomena  are  within  us,  not  out- 
side. The  creature  whom  we  call  Seraphita  seems  to 
me  to  be  one  of  those  rare  and  redoubtable  demons 
to  whom  is  given  the  power  to  enslave  men,  to 
hasten  the  course  of  nature,  and  to  share  the  occult 
power  of  God.  Her  enchantment  began  in  my  case 


SERAPHITA  199 

with  the  silence  which  was  imposed  upon  me.  When- 
ever I  dared  think  of  questioning  you  about  her,  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  on  the  point  of  revealing 
a  secret  of  which  I  should  be  an  incorruptible  de- 
positary; whenever  I  attempted  to  question  you,  a 
burning  seal  was  placed  upon  my  lips  and  I  became 
the  involuntary  minister  of  that  mysterious  prohibi- 
tion. You  see  me  here  now  for  the  one  hundredth 
time,  depressed,  exhausted,  because  I  have  been 
playing  with  the  world  of  hallucinations  which  that 
girl  bears  within  her — a  girl  who  is  in  the  eyes  of 
you  two  a  sweet,  fragile  creature,  but  in  mine  the 
most  cruel  of  magicians.  Yes,  she  is  to  me  like  a 
sorceress,  who  carries  in  her  right  hand  an  invisible 
apparatus  for  disturbing  the  equilibrium  of  the  globe, 
and  in  her  left  hand  lightning  with  which  to  annihi- 
late everything  at  her  pleasure.  At  last,  the  time  has 
come  when  I  cannot  look  at  her  brow;  it  gleams  with 
unendurable  brilliancy.  For  the  last  few  days  I  have 
been  skirting  the  precipices  of  folly  too  awkwardly 
to  keep  silent.  Therefore  I  seize  the  moment  when 
I  have  courage  to  resist  that  monster  who  drags  me 
after  her,  without  asking  me  if  I  am  able  to  follow  her 
flight.  Who  is  she?  Did  you  know  her  as  a  child? 
Was  she  ever  born?  Had  she  any  parents?  Was 
she  the  offspring  of  the  union  of  the  ice  and  the  sun  ? 
She  freezes  and  burns,  she  appears  and  disappears 
like  a  jealous  truth,  she  attracts  me  and  repels  me, 
she  gives  me  life  and  death  by  turns,  I  love  her  and 
I  hate  her.  I  can  live  no  longer  thus,  I  must  be 
altogether  in  heaven  or  in  hell." 


200  SERAPHITA 

Holding  in  one  hand  his  freshly-filled  pipe,  and 
in  the  other  the  lid  which  he  did  not  replace,  Mon- 
sieur Becker  listened  to  Wilfrid  with  a  mysterious 
expression,  glancing  now  and  then  at  his  daugh- 
ter, who  seemed  to  understand  that  language,  har- 
monizing as  it  did  with  the  being  who  inspired  it. 
Wilfrid  was  as  handsome  as  Hamlet  resisting  the 
appeals  of  his  father's  ghost,  with  whom  he  con- 
verses when  he  appears  to  him  alone  among  the 
living. 

"  That  strongly  resembles  the  harangue  of  a  man 
in  love,"  said  the  worthy  pastor,  ingenuously. 

"In  love!"  echoed  Wilfrid;  "yes,  according  to 
vulgar  ideas.  But,  my  dear  Monsieur  Becker,  no 
words  can  describe  the  frenzy  with  which  I  rush 
toward  that  wild  creature." 

"  You  love  her,  then?"  said  Minna,  in  a  reproach- 
ful tone. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  so  strangely  agitated  when  1 
see  her,  and  so  profoundly  sad  when  I  go  from  her 
sight,  that  any  man,  experiencing  similar  emotions, 
would  seem  to  be  in  love;  but  that  sentiment  draws 
two  persons  passionately  together,  whereas  between 
her  and  myself  an  abyss  constantly  yawns,  whose 
cold  breath  freezes  my  blood  when  I  am  in  her  pres- 
ence, but  of  which  I  am  no  longer  conscious  when  I 
am  away  from  her.  I  am  always  more  despairing 
than  ever  before  when  I  leave  her,  I  always  return 
to  her  with  greater  ardor,  like  a  scholar  in  quest  of 
a  secret,  whom  nature  repels;  like  the  painter  who 
seeks  to  depict  life  upon  his  canvas  and  exhausts  his 


SERAPHITA  201 

own  strength  and  all  the  resources  of  his  art  in  that 
vain  attempt." 

"  That  all  seems  very  true  to  me,  monsieur,"  the 
maiden  artlessly  replied. 

"  How  can  you  know  anything  about  it,  Minna?" 
inquired  the  old  man. 

"Ah!  father,  if  you  had  gone  with  us  this  morn- 
ing to  the  summit  of  the  Falberg  and  had  seen  her 
praying,  you  would  not  ask  me  that  question!  You 
would  say  as  Monsieur  Wilfrid  said  when  he  first  saw 
her  in  our  temple:  '  She  is  the  genius  of  prayer.'  " 

Her  last  words  were  followed  by  a  moment's 
silence. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Wilfrid,  "she  certainly  has 
nothing  in  common  with  the  creatures  who  swarm 
in  the  hollows  of  this  globe." 

"  On  the  Falberg!"  cried  the  old  pastor.  "  How 
did  you  succeed  in  reaching  it?" 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  replied  Minna.  "  The  walk 
seems  to  me  now  like  a  dream  of  which  the  memory 
alone  remains!  Perhaps  I  should  not  believe  in  it 
without  this  material  testimony." 

She  took  the  flower  from  her  corsage  and  held  it 
up.  They  all  sat  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  pretty 
saxifrage,  which  was  still  fresh,  and,  with  the  lamps 
shining  brightly  upon  it,  gleamed  amid  the  clouds  of 
smoke  like  another  light. 

"  This  is  truly  supernatural,"  said  the  old  man,  at 
sight  of  a  flower  in  full  bloom  in  winter. 

"An  unfathomable  mystery!"  cried  Wilfrid,  ex- 
cited by  the  perfume. 


202  SERAPHITA 

"  This  flower  gives  me  the  vertigo,"  rejoined 
Minna.  "  I  fancy  that  I  still  hear  his  voice,  which 
is  the  music  of  thought,  as  I  still  see  the  light  of  his 
glance,  which  is  love." 

"In  pity's  name,  my  dear  Monsieur  Becker,  tell 
me  the  story  of  Seraphita,  that  enigmatical  human 
flower  whose  image  we  have  before  us  in  this  mys- 
terious blossom." 

"  My  dear  guest,"  the  old  man  replied,  emitting  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  "in  order  to  tell  you  of  that  crea- 
ture's birth,  it  is  necessary  to  clear  away  the  mists 
from  the  most  obscure  of  all  Christian  doctrines;  but 
it  is  not  easy  to  make  one's  self  clear  in  speaking  of 
the  most  incomprehensible  of  revelations,  the  last 
outburst  of  the  faith  which  has  shone  upon  our 
heap  of  mud.  Do  you  know  of  Swedenborg?" 

"  By  name  only;  but  I  know  nothing  of  the  man, 
of  his  books,  of  his  religion." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  history  of 
Swedenborg." 


Ill 


SERAPHITA-SERAPHITUS 

After  a  pause,  during  which  the  pastor  seemed  to 
be  brushing  up  his  memory,  he  continued  in  these 
words: 

"Emmanuel  Swedenborg  was  born  at  Upsala,  in 
Sweden,  in  the  month  of  January,  1688,  according 
to  some  authorities;  in  1689,  according  to  his  epi- 
taph. His  father  was  Bishop  of  Skara.  Sweden- 
borg lived  nearly  eighty-five  years,  his  death  having 
taken  place  at  London,  March  29,  1772.  I  make 
use  of  that  expression  to  denote  a  change  of  condition 
simply.  According  to  his  disciples,  Swedenborg  was 
seen  in  Jarvis  and  in  Paris  subsequently  to  that 
date. — I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Monsieur  Wil- 
frid," said  the  pastor,  with  a  gesture  intended  to 
forestall  any  interruption,  "  I  narrate  facts  as  I  have 
heard  them,  without  affirming  or  denying  their  truth. 
Listen  to  me,  and  afterward  you  may  form  such 
opinion  of  them  as  you  choose.  I  will  tell  you  when 
I  propose  to  discuss,  criticise,  or  pass  judgment  upon 
doctrines,  in  order  to  establish  my  intellectual  neu- 
trality between  reason  and  HIM ! 
(203) 


2O4  SERAPHITA 

"  The  life  of  Emmanuel  Swedenborg  was  divided 
into  two  parts,"  continued  the  pastor.  "  From  1688 
to  1745,  Baron  Emmanuel  Swedenborg  appeared  to 
the  world  as  a  man  of  immense  learning,  esteemed 
and  beloved  for  his  virtues,  leading  an  absolutely 
irreproachable  and  constantly  useful  life.  While 
exercising  important  public  functions  in  Sweden,  he 
published,  between  1709  and  1740,  numerous  and 
valuable  books,  which  enlightened  the  scientific 
world,  upon  mineralogy,  physics,  mathematics,  and 
astronomy.  He  invented  the  method  of  constructing 
docks  to  receive  vessels.  He  wrote  upon  the  most 
important  questions,  from  the  rise  and  fall  of  tides  to 
the  position  of  the  earth  in  space.  He  invented  at  the 
same  time  a  method  of  building  better  locks  for 
canals,  and  more  simple  processes  for  the  extraction 
of  metals.  In  fact,  he  did  not  turn  his  attention  to  a 
single  science  without  causing  distinct  progress  to  be 
made  therein.  During  his  youth,  he  studied  Hebrew, 
Greek,  Latin,  and  the  Oriental  tongues,  which  be- 
came so  familiar  to  him  that  several  illustrious  pro- 
fessors frequently  consulted  him,  and  he  was  able 
to  identify  in  Tartary  fragments  of  the  most  ancient 
book  of  Holy  Writ,  called  the  Wars  of  Jehovah,  and 
the  Enunciations,  mentioned  by  Moses  in  the  Book 
of  Numbers, — xxi.  14,  15,  27-30, — *  by  Joshua,  by 
Jeremiah,  and  by  Samuel.  The  Wars  of  Jehovah 
would  seem  to  have  been  the  historical  part  and 
the  Enunciations  the  prophetic  part  of  that  book, 
which  was  anterior  to  Genesis.  Swedenborg  went 

*  These  references  are  to  the  Douai  Bible. 


SERAPHITA  205 

so  far  as  to  assert  that  the  Jaschar,  or  the  Book  of  the 
Just,  mentioned  by  Joshua,  existed  in  Eastern  Tar- 
tary,  with  the  worship  of  Correspondences.  A  French- 
man, they  say,  has  recently  confirmed  Swedenborg's 
theories,  announcing  that  he  has  found  in  Bagdad 
several  portions  of  the  Bible  hitherto  unknown  in 
Europe. 

"At  the  time  of  the  discussion,  almost  European  in 
extent,  to  which  animal  magnetism  gave  rise,  and 
in  which  almost  all  scholars  took  an  active  part,  in 
1785,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Thome  avenged 
Swedenborg's  memory  by  challenging  assertions 
let  fall  by  the  commissioners  appointed  by  the  King 
of  France  to  investigate  the  subject  of  magnetism. 
Those  gentlemen  declared  that  there  was  no  known 
theory  of  the  action  of  the  magnet,  whereas  Sweden- 
bo  rg  had  evolved  such  a  theory  as  early  as  1720. 
Monsieur  de  Thome  seized  that  opportunity  to  ex- 
plain the  motives  of  the  oblivion  in  which  the  most 
famous  men  left  the  learned  Swede,  in  order  that 
they  might  overhaul  his  treasures  to  assist  them  in 
their  own  works.  "  Some  of  the  most  illustrious 
scholars,"  said  Monsieur  de  Thome,  alluding  to  Buf- 
fon's  Theorie  de  la  Terre,  "  are  weak  enough  to 
array  themselves  in  the  peacock's  feathers  without 
doing  homage  to  him  therefor."  And  he  proved 
triumphantly,  by  citations  from  Swedenborg's  en- 
cyclopaedic works,  that  that  great  prophet  was  sev- 
eral centuries  in  advance  of  the  slow  progress  of  the 
human  sciences:  indeed,  one  need  only  read  his  phi- 
losophical and  mineralogical  works  to  be  convinced 


206  SERAPHITA 

of  it.  In  one  passage,  he  shows  himself  the  pre- 
cursor of  the  chemistry  of  to-day,  when  he  asserts 
that  all  organic  natural  products  are  decomposable 
and  may  be  reduced  to  two  pure  principles;  that 
water,  air,  and  fire  are  not  elements.  In  another,  he 
goes  in  a  few  words  to  the  bottom  of  the  mysteries  of 
magnetism,  and  thus  deprives  Mesmer  of  the  honor 
of  having  first  become  acquainted  with  them. — 
There,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  pointing  to  a  long 
shelf  between  the  stove  and  the  window,  upon 
which  stood  numerous  books  of  all  sizes,  "are 
seventeen  different  works,  a  single  one  of  which, 
the  CEumes  Philosophiques  et  Mineralogiques ,  com- 
prises three  folio  volumes.  Those  productions, 
which  bear  witness  to  Swedenborg's  positive  knowl- 
edge, were  given  to  me  by  his  cousin,  Monsieur  Sera- 
phitus,  Seraphita's  father.  In  1740,  Swedenborg 
relapsed  into  absolute  silence,  from  which  he  emerged 
only  to  lay  aside  his  temporal  occupations  and  to 
devote  his  thoughts  exclusively  to  the  spiritual 
world.  He  received  his  first  commands  from  Heaven 
in  1745.  He  described  his  calling  in  this  way: 

"One  evening,  in  London,  after 'he  had  dined 
heartily,  a  dense  mist  filled  his  chamber.  When 
it  disappeared,  a  creature  who  had  assumed  human 
form  stood  in  the  corner  and  said  to  him,  in  a  terrible 
voice: 

"  '  Do  not  eat  so  much!' 

"  Thereupon  he  adopted  a  rigid  diet.  On  the  fol- 
lowing night,  the  same  man  came,  radiant  with  light, 
and  said  to  him: 


SERAPHITA  207 

"  '  I  am  sent  to  you  by  God,  who  has  chosen  you  to 
explain  to  mankind  the  meaning  of  His  word  and  His 
creations.  I  will  dictate  to  you  what  you  must  write.' 

"  The  vision  lasted  a  very  few  moments.  The 
ANGEL  was  clad  in  purple,  he  said.  During  that 
night,  the  eyes  of  his  inner  man  were  opened,  and 
he  was  able  to  look  into  heaven,  into  the  world  of 
spirits  and  into  hell:  three  distinct  spheres,  wherein 
he  recognized  persons  whom  he  had  known,  who 
had  perished  in  their  human  form,  some  long  before, 
others  within  a  short  time.  Thereafter  Swedenborg 
constantly  lived  a  spirit  life,  and  remained  in  this 
world  as  one  sent  by  God.  Although  his  mission 
was  disputed  by  incredulous  minds,  his  conduct  was 
visibly  that  of  a  being  superior  to  mankind.  In  the 
first  place,  although  his  means  required  him  to  con- 
fine himself  to  the  strict  necessaries  of  life,  he  gave 
away  immense  sums,  and  in  more  than  one  commer- 
cial centre  he  was  known  to  have  rehabilitated  great 
business  houses  that  had  failed  or  were  on  the  point 
of  failing.  No  man  who  ever  appealed  to  his  gener- 
osity failed  to  depart  at  once  content.  An  incredulous 
Englishman  set  out  in  pursuit  of  him,  met  him  in 
Paris,  and  reported  that  the  doors  of  his  house  were 
always  open.  One  day,  his  servant,  having  deplored 
his  negligence  in  that  particular,  which  rendered  him 
liable  to  be  suspected  of  any  thefts  of  which  his 
master  might  be  the  victim: 

"  '  Let  him  be  easy,'  said  Swedenborg,  smiling, '  I 
pardon  his  distrust,  for  he  does  not  see  the  watch- 
man who  guards  my  door.' 


208  SERAPHITA 

"  It  was  the  fact  that,  wherever  he  lived,  he  never 
closed  his  doors,  and  nothing  was  ever  taken  from 
him. 

"At  Gothenburg,  sixty  miles  from  Stockholm,  he 
announced,  three  days  before  the  arrival  of  the  cou- 
rier with  the  news,  the  precise  hour  of  the  confla- 
gration that  laid  Stockholm  in  ashes,  observing  that 
his  own  house  was  not  burned;  which  was  true. 
The  Queen  of  Sweden  told  the  King  of  Prussia,  her 
brother,  at  Berlin,  that  one  of  her  ladies-in-waiting, 
being  sued  for  a  sum  of  money  which  she  knew  that 
her  husband  had  paid  before  he  died,  but  for  which 
she  could  find  no  receipt,  went  to  Swedenborg,  and 
begged  him  to  ask  her  husband  where  the  evidence 
of  payment  could  be  found.  The  next  day,  Sweden- 
borg told  her  where  the  receipt  was;  but  as,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  lady's  wish,  he  had  requested  the 
deceased  to  appear  to  his  wife,  she  saw  her  husband 
in  a  dream,  dressed  in  the  robe  de  chambre  he  wore 
just  before  he  died,  and  he  showed  her  the  receipt 
in  the  place  indicated  by  Swedenborg,  where  it  really 
was  hidden.  One  day,  as  he  was  leaving  London, 
on  Captain  Dixon's  vessel,  he  heard  a  lady  asking 
if  they  had  laid  in  an  ample  stock  of  provisions. 

"  '  We  do  not  need  so  much/  he  replied.  'A  week 
from  to-day,  at  two  o'clock,  we  shall  be  in  the  harbor 
of  Stockholm.' 

"And  so  it  proved.  The  visionary  state  into  which 
Swedenborg  threw  himself  at  pleasure,  with  respect 
to  earthly  things,  and  which  astounded  by  its  mar- 
vellous results  all  those  who  came  in  contact  with 


SERAPHITA  209 

him,  was  only  a  trivial  application  of  his  power  of 
seeing  beyond  the  skies.  Among  these  visions,  the 
one  in  which  he  describes  his  travels  in  the  astral 
regions  is  not  the  least  interesting,  and  his  descrip- 
tions inevitably  surprise  one  by  the  ingenuousness 
of  the  details.  A  man  whose  vast  scientific  learning 
is  beyond  dispute,  who  combined  in  himself  concep- 
tion, will,  imagination,  would  certainly  have  invented 
something  better  if  he  had  invented  at  all.  The 
fanciful  literature  of  the  orientals  offers  nothing  that 
can  afford  an  idea  of  that  astounding  work,  overflow- 
ing with  poetic  thoughts  in  germ,  if  I  may  venture 
to  compare  a  work  of  faith  to  the  productions  of  the 
Arabian  imagination.  The  abduction  of  Sweden- 
borg  by  the  angel  who  acted  as  his  guide  in  his  first 
journey  is  marked  by  a  sublimity  which  surpasses, 
by  as  great  a  distance  as  God  has  placed  between 
the  earth  and  the  sun,  that  of  the  great  epics  of 
Klopstock,  Milton,  Tasso,  and  Dante.  That  pas- 
sage, which  serves  as  an  introduction  to  his  work 
on  the  astral  regions,  has  never  been  published;  it 
belongs  to  the  traditions  bequeathed  by  Swedenborg 
to  the  three  disciples  who  were  nearest  his  heart. 
Monsieur  Silverichm  possesses  it  in  writing.  Mon- 
sieur Seraphitus  attempted  now  and  then  to  talk  with 
me  about  it;  but  the  memory  of  his  cousin's  words 
was  so  vivid  that  he  would  stop  at  the  first  word, 
and  fall  into  a  reverie  from  which  nothing  could 
coax  him.  The  speech  in  which  the  angel  proved 
to  Swedenborg  that  our  bodies  were  not  made  to 
wander  about  alone,  overwhelms  all  human  learning, 


210  SERAPHITA 

so  the  baron  told  me,  beneath  the  swelling  periods 
of  a  divine  logic.  According  to  the  prophet,  the 
inhabitants  of  Jupiter  do  not  cultivate  the  sciences, 
which  they  call  shadows.  The  inhabitants  of  Mer- 
cury abhor  the  expression  of  ideas  by  words,  which 
seem  to  them  too  materialistic;  they  have  an  ocular 
language;  those  of  Saturn  are  constantly  tempted 
by  evil  spirits;  those  of  the  Moon  are  as  small  as 
children  six  years  old,  their  voices  seem  to  proceed 
from  the  abdomen,  and  they  crawl;  those  of  Venus 
are  of  gigantic  stature,  but  unintelligent,  and  live  by 
brigandage;  a  portion  of  that  planet,  however,  is  oc- 
cupied by  people  of  a  most  peaceful  disposition,  who 
live  in  the  love  of  the  good.  In  short,  he  describes 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  peoples  inhabiting 
those  globes,  and  interprets  the  general  significance 
of  their  existence  with  relation  to  the  universe,  in 
terms  so  precise,  he  offers  explanations  which  harmo- 
nize so  perfectly  with  the  results  of  their  apparent 
revolutions  in  the  general  system,  that  it  is  more 
than  likely  that  scholars  will  some  day  come  to 
drink  of  those  luminous  springs.  These  are  the 
words  with  which  he  brings  the  work  to  a  close," 
said  Monsieur  Becker,  taking  up  a  book  and  open- 
ing it  at  the  place  at  which  the  bookmark  was  in- 
serted : 

"  '  If  anyone  doubts  that  I  was  actually  taken  to 
a  great  number  of  astral  worlds,  let  him  recall  my 
observations  concerning  distances  in  the  other  life; 
they  exist  only  in  reference  to  the  outward  con- 
dition of  life;  now,  inasmuch  as  I  am  constituted 


SERAPHITA  211 

inwardly  like  the  angelic  spirits  of  those  worlds,  I 
was  able  to  become  acquainted  with  them.' 

"  The  circumstances  to  which  we  owed  the  pres- 
ence in  this  canton  of  Baron  Seraphitus,  Sweden- 
borg's  beloved  cousin,  explain  my  familiarity  with 
all  the  incidents  of  that  extraordinary  life.  He  was 
accused  of  imposture  in  certain  public  journals  of 
Europe,  which  gave  currency  to  the  following  state- 
ment based  upon  a  letter  of  Chevalier  Beylon. 
Sweden borg,  it  was  said,  being  informed  by  certain 
senators  of  the  secret  correspondence  between  the  late 
Queen  of  Sweden  and  her  brother  the  Prince  of  Prussia, 
revealed  its  secrets  to  that  princess,  and  allowed  her  to 
believe  that  he  had  obtained  his  information  by  super- 
natural means.  A  man  entirely  worthy  of  faith, 
Monsieur  Charles  Leonard  de  Stahlhammer,  a  cap- 
tain in  the  royal  guard  and  a  Knight  of  the  Sword, 
answered  the  calumny  by  a  letter." 

The  pastor  looked  among  a  number  of  papers  in 
his  table-drawer,  and  finally  found  a  newspaper, 
which  he  handed  to  Wilfrid,  who  read  aloud  the 
following  letter: 

"  STOCKHOLM,  May  13, 1788. 

"  I  have  read  with  amazement  the  letter  relating  to  the  in- 
terview between  the  famous  Swedenborg  and  Queen  Louise- 
Ulrique;  the  alleged  facts  are  entirely  false,  and  I  hope  that  the 
author  will  pardon  me  if  I  prove  to  him  how  far  he  has  gone 
astray,  by  a  faithful  narrative,  the  truth  of  which  can  be  attested 
by  several  persons  of  distinction  who  were  present,  and  who 
are  still  living.  In  1758,  a  short  time  after  the  death  of  the 
Prince  of  Prussia,  Swedenborg  came  to  the  court :  he  was  ac- 
customed to  appear  there  at  regular  intervals.  He  was  no  sooner 


212  SERAPHITA 

in  the  queen's  presence  than  she  said  to  him  :  '  By  the  way, 
Herr  Assessor,  have  you  seen  my  brother?' — Swedenborg 
replied  that  he  had  not,  and  the  queen  rejoined  :  '  If  you  meet 
him,  salute  him  for  me.' — In  saying  that,  she  had  no  other 
purpose  than  to  jest  and  had  not  the  remotest  thought  of 
asking  him  for  any  information  concerning  her  brother.  A 
week  later,  and  not  twenty-four  days,  Swedenborg  came 
again  to  the  court  so  early  in  the  morning  that  the  queen  had 
not  left  her  apartment,  called  the  white  chamber,  where  she 
was  talking  with  her  maids  of  honor  and  other  ladies  of  the 
court.  Swedenborg  did  not  wait  for  the  queen  to  come  out, 
but  went  at  once  to  her  apartment  and  whispered  in  her 
ear,  but  did  not  have  a  private  audience.  The  queen  was  so 
thunderstruck  that  she  had  an  ill  turn  and  required  some  time 
to  recover.  When  she  came  to  herself,  she  said  to  those  about 
her:  '  Nobody  but  God  and  my  brother  could  possibly  know 
what  he  told  me ! '  She  admitted  that  he  had  spoken  of  her 
latest  correspondence  with  that  prince,  the  subject  of  which 
was  known  to  themselves  alone.  I  cannot  explain  how 
Swedenborg  became  acquainted  with  that  secret;  but  I  am 
able  to  assert  upon  my  honor,  that  neither  Count  H — ,  as  the 
author  of  the  letter  states,  nor  any  other  person,  intercepted 
or  read  the  queen's  letters.  The  Senate  of  those  days  allowed 
her  to  write  to  her  brother  with  perfect  freedom,  and  looked 
upon  that  correspondence  as  of  no  concern  to  the  State.  It  is 
evident  that  the  author  of  the  letter  I  have  referred  to  is  alto- 
gether unacquainted  with  the  character  of  Count  H — .  That 
venerable  nobleman,  who  has  rendered  most  valuable  services 
to  his  country,  combines  great  intellectual  powers  with  ex- 
cellent qualities  of  the  heart,  and  his  advanced  age  has  not 
impaired  those  precious  gifts.  Throughout  his  whole  ad- 
ministration he  displayed  the  most  enlightened  political  wis- 
dom in  conjunction  with  the  most  scrupulous  integrity,  and 
proclaimed  himself  the  enemy  of  secret  intrigues  and  under- 
hand manoeuvring,  which  he  considered  unworthy  means  of 
attaining  his  object.  Nor  was  the  author  any  better  acquainted 
with  Swedenborg.  The  only  weakness  of  that  genuinely 


SERAPHITA  213 

honest  man  was  a  proneness  to  believe  in  spiritual  appari- 
tions ;  but  I  knew  him  for  many  years,  and  I  can  bear  witness 
that  he  was  as  firmly  persuaded  that  he  had  conversed  with 
spirits,  as  I  am  persuaded  that  I  am  writing  these  words  at 
this  moment.  As  a  citizen  and  as  a  friend,  he  was  a  man  of 
the  utmost  integrity,  with  a  horror  of  imposture,  and  he  led  a 
most  exemplary  life.  Thus  the  explanation  of  this  incident 
which  Chevalier  Beylon  has  undertaken  to  give  is  seen  to  be 
entirely  without  foundation ;  and  the  visit  paid  to  Sweden- 
borg  during  the  night  by  Counts  H —  and  T —  is  conclusively 
contradicted.  The  author  of  the  letter  may  be  assured  that 
I  am  very  far  from  being  a  follower  of  Swedenborg ;  only  the 
love  of  truth  has  prompted  me  to  give  an  accurate  account  of 
a  fact  which  has  been  so  often  described  with  an  entire  ab- 
sence of  truth,  and  I  declare  that  what  I  have  written  is  the 
exact  truth,  and  in  witness  thereof  I  set  my  hand  to  this 
letter." 

"The  proofs  of  his  mission  which  Swedenborg 
supplied  to  the  royal  families  of  Sweden  and  Prussia 
doubtless  originated  the  belief  entertained  by  several 
prominent  personages  of  those  two  courts,"  continued 
Monsieur  Becker,  replacing  the  paper  in  the  drawer. 
"  However,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  relate  all  incidents 
of  his  material  and  visible  life:  his  habits  made  it 
impossible  for  them  to  be  fully  known.  He  lived  in 
retirement,  having  no  desire  to  become  rich  or  to 
gain  celebrity.  Indeed,  he  was  remarkable  for  a 
sort  of  repugnance  to  making  converts,  he  opened 
his  mind  to  but  few  persons,  and  imparted  his  ex- 
ternal gifts  only  to  those  in  whom  faith,  virtue,  and 
love  made  themselves  clearly  manifest.  He  had  the 
art  of  detecting  at  a  single  glance  the  mental  condi- 
tion of  those  who  approached  him,  and  transformed 


214  SERAPHITA 

to  seers  those  whom  he  deigned  to  touch  with  his 
inward  speech.  After  the  year  1745,  his  disciples 
never  knew  him  to  do  any  act  from  any  human  mo- 
tive. A  single  person,  a  Swedish  priest  named 
Matthesius,  accused  him  of  madness.  By  a  strange 
chance,  this  Matthesius,  who  was  an  enemy  of 
Swedenborg  and  his  writings,  went  mad  a  short 
time  after,  and  was  still  living  at  Stockholm  a  few 
years  ago,  with  a  pension  granted  by  the  King  of 
Sweden.  Moreover,  a  eulogy  of  Swedenborg,  com- 
posed with  the  most  painstaking  care  so  far  as  the 
incidents  of  his  life  were  concerned,  was  pronounced 
in  the  great  hall  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  Sciences 
at  Stockholm,  in  1786,  by  Monsieur  Sandel,  coun- 
cillor to  the  College  of  Mines.  Lastly,  a  statement 
received  by  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  describes 
Swedenborg's  last  illness  and  death  to  the  smallest 
details;  he  was  attended  at  that  time  by  Monsieur 
Ferelius,  a  Swedish  ecclesiastic  of  the  highest  dis- 
tinction. Those  persons  who  were  present  bear 
witness  that  Swedenborg,  far  from  denying  his 
writings,  constantly  asserted  their  truth. 

"  'A  hundred  years  hence/  he  said  to  Ferelius, 
'  my  doctrine  will  govern  the  Church.' 

"  He  predicted  with  absolute  accuracy  the  day  and 
the  hour  of  his  death.  On  that  day,  Sunday,  March 
29,  1772,  he  asked  what  time  it  was. 

"  '  Five  o'clock,'  was  the  reply. 

"  '  It  is  all  over,'  he  said.     '  God  bless  you!' 

"  Ten  minutes  later  he  tranquilly  breathed  his  last, 
uttering  a  faint  sigh.  Simplicity,  modesty,  solitude, 


SERAPHITA  215 

were  the  leading  features  of  his  life.  When  he  had 
finished  one  of  his  treatises,  he  would  go  to  London 
or  Holland  to  have  it  printed,  and  he  never  men- 
tioned it.  He  published  in  that  way,  one  after 
another,  twenty-seven  different  treatises,  all  writ- 
ten, as  he  said,  at  the  dictation  of  angels.  Whether 
that  be  true  or  not,  few  men  are  strong  enough  to 
endure  their  flaming  eloquence.  There  they  all 
are,"  said  the  pastor,  pointing  to  a  second  shelf 
upon  which  were  some  threescore  volumes.  "The 
seven  treatises  upon  which  the  spirit  of  God  has 
cast  its  most  brilliant  beams  are:  The  Delights  of 
Conjugal  Love;  Heaven  and  Hell;  The  Apocalypse 
Revealed  ;  The  Exposition  of  the  Inward  Sense  ;  Divine 
Love  ;  True  Christianity ;  The  Angelic  Wisdom  of  the 
Omnipotence,  Omniscience,  and  Omnipresence  of  those 
who  Share  the  Eternity,  tlie  Immensity  of  God.  His 
interpretation  of  the  Apocalypse  begins  with  these 
words,"  continued  Monsieur  Becker,  taking  down 
and  opening  the  volume  nearest  him:  "'In  this 
book  I  have  put  nothing  of  my  own,  I  have  spoken 
according  to  the  Word  of  the  Lord,  who  said  to  John 
by  the  mouth  of  the  same  angel:  "Seal  not  the 
sayings  of  the  prophecy  of  this  book."  ' — Apocalypse 
xxii.  10. 

"  My  dear  monsieur,"  said  the  pastor,  looking  up 
at  Wilfrid,  "  I  have  often  trembled  in  every  limb, 
during  the  long  winter  nights,  reading  the  awe- 
inspiring  works  in  which  that  man  asserts  the  most 
marvellous  things  with  perfect  sincerity. 

"  '  I  have  seen  heaven  and  the  angels/  he  says. 


2l6  SERAPHITA 

'  The  spirit  man  sees  the  spirit  man  much  more 
clearly  than  the  earthly  man  sees  the  earthly  man. 
In  describing  the  marvels  of  the  heavens  and  the 
regions  beneath  the  heavens,  I  obey  the  commands 
of  the  Lord  so  to  do.  People  are  at  liberty  to  refuse 
to  believe  me,  I  cannot  put  others  in  the  condition  in 
which  God  has  put  me;  it  is  not  in  my  power  to 
allow  them  to  hold  converse  with  angels,  nor  to  per- 
form the  miracle  of  developing  their  understanding; 
they  themselves  are  the  only  instruments  of  their 
elevation  to  the  level  of  the  angels.  For  twenty- 
eight  years  past  I  have  lived  in  the  spirit  world  with 
the  angels,  and  on  earth  with  men;  for  it  has  seemed 
good  to  the  Lord  to  open  the  eyes  of  my  spirit  as  he 
opened  those  of  Paul  and  Daniel  and  Elisha.' 

"  Nevertheless,  certain  persons  have  visions  of  the 
spiritual  world  by  reason  of  the  complete  severance 
of  their  external  and  internal  beings  caused  by  som- 
nambulism. 

"'In  that  condition/  says  Swedenborg  in  his 
Treatise  on  Angelic  Wisdom,  No.  257,  'man  may  be 
exalted  even  to  the  celestial  light,  because,  the  cor- 
poreal senses  being  nullified,  the  influence  of  Heaven 
acts  without  opposition  upon  the  inward  man.' 

"  Many  people,  who  have  no  doubt  that  Sweden- 
borg received  revelations  from  on  high,  consider, 
nevertheless,  that  all  his  writings  are  not  equally 
stamped  with  divine  inspiration.  Others  insist 
upon  absolute  assent  to  Swedenborg's  doctrines, 
while  admitting  his  obscurities;  but  they  believe  that 
the  imperfections  of  earthly  language  prevented  the 


SERAPHITA  217 

prophet  from  describing  his  spiritual  visions,  whose 
obscurities  disappear  in  the  eyes  of  those  whom 
faith  has  regenerated;  for,  adopting  the  sublime  ex- 
pression of  his  most  illustrious  disciple,  the  flesh  is 
an  external  generation.  To  poets  and  writers  gen- 
erally, his  marvellous  charm  is  unbounded;  to  seers, 
everything  in  his  works  is  absolutely  real.  His 
descriptions  have  been  subjects  of  scandal  to  some 
Christians.  Certain  critics  have  cast  ridicule  upon 
the  divine  substance  of  his  temples,  his  golden 
palaces,  his  superb  country-houses  in  which  angels 
disport  themselves;  others  have  made  merry  over 
his  thickets  of  mysterious  trees,  his  gardens  in 
which  the  flowers  talk,  where  the  air  is  white, 
where  the  mystic  jewels,  the  sardius,  the  carbuncle, 
the  chrysolite,  the  chrysoprasus,  the  cyanite,  the 
chalcedony,  the  beryl,  the  Urim  and  the  Thummim, 
are  endowed  with  motion,  are  divine  truths  and  can 
be  questioned,  for  they  reply  by  variations  of  light — 
True  Religion,  219 ; — many  intelligent  minds  do  not 
admit  the  existence  of  his  worlds  where  the  colors 
give  delightful  concerts,  where  speech  emits  flames, 
where  the  Word  is  written  in  little  horns — True  Re- 
ligion, 278. — Even  in  the  North,  some  writers  have 
laughed  at  his  doors  of  pearls,  at  the  diamonds  that 
adorn  the  hangings  and  furniture  of  the  houses  of 
his  Jerusalem,  where  the  most  trivial  utensils  are 
made  of  the  rarest  substances  of  the  globe. 

"  'But,'  say  his  disciples,  'because  all  these  ob- 
jects are  scarce  in  this  world,  is  that  any  reason 
why  they  should  not  be  abundant  in  the  other?  On 


21 8  SERAPHITA 

earth,  they  are  of  earthly  substance,  whereas,  in 
heaven,  they  are  exposed  to  the  celestial  glamour 
and  exist,  as  it  were,  in  the  angelic  state.' 

"On  this  same  subject,  Swedenborg  repeated 
these  great  words  of  Jesus  Christ:  '  If  1  have  told 
you  earthly  things  and  ye  believe  not,  how  shall 
ye  believe  if  I  tell  you  of  heavenly  things?' — Saint 
John  iii.  12. 

"  I,  monsieur,  have  read  Swedenborg  from  begin- 
ning to  end,"  resumed  Monsieur  Becker,  with  an 
emphatic  gesture.  "  I  say  it  with  pride,  because  I 
have  retained  my  reason.  In  reading  him,  one  must 
either  lose  one's  mind  or  become  a  seer.  Although 
1  have  avoided  those  two  forms  of  madness,  I  have 
often  experienced  unfamiliar  ecstasy,  profound  im- 
pressions, inward  joys,  which  naught  but  the  fulness 
of  truth,  the  manifestation  of  the  celestial  light,  can 
give.  Everything  here  below  seems  trivial  when 
the  mind  is  running  through  the  intense  pages  of 
these  treatises.  It  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck 
with  amazement  when  you  consider  that,  within  a 
period  of  thirty  years,  that  man  published,  on  the 
subject  of  the  truths  of  the  spiritual  world,  twenty- 
five  quarto  volumes,  written  in  Latin,  the  smallest 
of  which  contains  five  hundred  pages,  and  which 
were  all  printed  in  small  type.  He  left  twenty 
others  in  London,  it  is  said,  in  the  hands  of  his 
nephew,  Monsieur  Silverichm,  formerly  chaplain  to 
the  King  of  Sweden.  Unquestionably,  the  man  who, 
between  his  twentieth  and  sixtieth  year,  exhausted 
himself  by  the  publication  of  a  sort  of  encyclopaedia, 


SERAPHITA  2IQ 

must  have  received  some  supernatural  assistance  to 
enable  him  to  produce  these  vast  treatises  at  a  time 
of  life  when  man's  powers  begin  to  fail.  In  these 
works  there  are  tens  of  thousands  of  numbered 
passages,  not  one  of  which  is  inconsistent  with  any 
other.  In  all  of  them,  accuracy,  method,  clarity  of 
reasoning,  stand  prominently  forth,  and  are  attribu- 
table to  one  and  the  same  fact,  the  existence  of  the 
angels.  His  True  Religion,  in  which  his  whole  doc- 
trine is  summed  up,  a  work  instinct  with  vigorous 
intelligence,  was  conceived  and  executed  at  the  age 
of  eighty-three.  Indeed,  his  universality,  his  omnis- 
cience, are  denied  by  none  of  his  critics  nor  by  his 
enemies. 

"Nevertheless,  when  I  drank  of  that  torrent  of 
celestial  knowledge,  God  did  not  open  my  inward 
eyes,  and  I  judged  these  writings  with  the  cold  rea- 
soning of  an  unregenerate  man.  So  that  it  has  fre- 
quently seemed  to  me  that  Swedenborg  the  INSPIRED 
must  sometimes  have  misunderstood  the  angels.  I 
have  laughed  at  several  visions,  which  I  should  have 
implicitly  believed  in  and  admired,  according  to  the 
seers.  I  have  been  unable  to  form  any  conception 
of  the  hornlike  writing  of  the  angels,  or  of  their 
girdles,  the  gold  in  which  is  more  or  less  light.  For 
example,  although  the  sentence:  There  are  solitary 
angels,  moved  me  strangely  at  first,  on  reflection  I 
could  not  see  how  such  solitude  was  consistent  with 
their  marriages.  I  could  not  understand  why  the 
Virgin  Mary  should  continue  to  wear  white  satin 
garments  in  heaven.  I  have  ventured  to  wonder 


220  SERAPHITA 

why  the  gigantic  demons  Enakim  and  Hephilim  al- 
ways fought  the  cherubim  in  the  apocalyptic  fields 
of  Armageddon.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  how  devils 
can  still  dispute  with  angels.  Baron  Seraphitus  main- 
tained that  those  details  referred  to  angels  who  lived 
on  earth  in  the  human  form.  The  visions  of  the 
Swedish  prophet  are  often  marred  by  grotesque 
figures.  One  of  his  Memorabilia,  which  was  the 
name  he  gave  them,  begins  with  these  words:  'I 
saw  an  assemblage  of  spirits,  they  had  hats  on  their 
heads.'  In  another,  he  receives  from  heaven  a  bit 
of  paper  upon  which  he  sees,  so  he  says,  the  letters 
used  by  primitive  peoples,  consisting  of  curved  lines 
with  little  rings  extending  upward.  For  the  better 
attestation  of  his  communication  with  heaven,  one 
might  wish  that  he  had  deposited  that  paper  with 
the  Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  of  Sweden.  But 
perhaps  I  am  wrong,  perhaps  the  material  absurdi- 
ties scattered  through  his  works  have  some  spiritual 
meaning.  Otherwise,  how  are  we  to  account  for 
the  growing  influence  of  his  doctrines?  His  Church 
to-day  numbers  more  than  seven  hundred  thousand 
faithful,  as  well  in  the  United  States  of  America, 
where  different  sects  coalesce,  as  in  England,  where 
there  are  seven  thousand  Swedenborgians  in  the  city 
of  Manchester  alone.  Men  as  distinguished  by  their 
learning  as  by  their  social  position,  in  Germany,  in 
Prussia,  and  in  the  North,  have  publicly  announced 
their  conversion  to  Swedenborg's  doctrines,  which 
are  more  consoling  than  those  of  other  Christian 
communions.  I  would  that  I  were  able  to  set  forth 


SERAPHITA  221 

in  a  few  succinct  words  the  main  points  of  the 
doctrine  laid  down  by  Swedenborg  for  his  church; 
but  such  a  summary,  made  entirely  from  memory, 
would  necessarily  be  incomplete.  I  can  only  ven- 
ture, therefore,  to  speak  to  you  of  the  myste- 
ries which  have  some  connection  with  Seraphita's 
birth." 

At  that  point,  Monsieur  Becker  paused  and  seemed 
to  reflect  as  if  to  collect  his  ideas;  then  he  continued 
thus: 

"  After  he  has  mathematically  demonstrated  that 
man  lives  forever  in  the  infernal  as  well  as  in  the 
supernal  spheres,  Swedenborg  gives  the  name  of 
angelic  spirits  to  the  beings  who  are  prepared  in  this 
world  for  heaven,  where  they  become  angels.  Ac- 
cording to  his  theory,  God  did  not  create  angels 
as  a  special  race;  there  are  no  angels  who  have  not 
been  men  on  earth.  Thus  the  earth  is  the  nursery 
of  heaven.  The  angels,  therefore,  are  not  angels  of 
themselves — Angelic  Virtue,  57; — they  are  trans- 
formed by  virtue  of  an  intimate  connection  with 
God,  which  God  never  refuses,  the  essence  of  God 
being  incessantly  active,  not  negative.  Angelic 
spirits  pass  through  three  varieties  of  love,  for 
man  can  become  regenerate  only  by  successive  de- 
grees— True  Religion. — First,  LOVE  OF  SELF:  the 
supreme  manifestation  of  that  love  is  human  genius, 
whose  productions  call  forth  enthusiastic  admiration. 
Second,  LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD,  which  produces 
prophets,  the  great  men  whom  the  world  takes  for 
guides  and  hails  by  the  name  of  divine.  Last,  LOVE 


222  SERAPHITA 

OF  HEAVEN,  which  produces  angelic  spirits.  Those 
spirits  are,  so  to  speak,  the  flowers  of  mankind, 
which  reaches  its  highest  development  in  them  and 
labors  so  to  develop  itself.  They  must  have  either 
the  love  of  heaven  or  the  wisdom  of  heaven;  but 
they  always  pass  through  love  to  wisdom.  Thus 
the  first  transformation  of  man  is  LOVE. 

"  To  attain  that  first  step,  his  previous  existences 
must  have  known  the  hope  and  the  charity  which 
fit  him  for  faith  and  prayer.  The  ideas  acquired  by 
the  practice  of  those  virtues  are  transmitted  to  each 
new  human  envelope  beneath  which  are  hidden  the 
metamorphoses  of  the  INWARD  BEING;  for  none  of 
them  can  be  dispensed  with,  all  are  essential:  hope 
is  of  no  avail  without  charity,  faith  has  no  efficacy 
without  prayer;  the  four  faces  of  that  square  are 
inseparable.  'For  lack  of  one  virtue,'  he  says,  'the 
angelic  spirit  is  like  a  shattered  pearl.'  Each  of 
those  previous  existences,  therefore,  is  a  circle  in 
which  are  displayed  the  celestial  treasures  of  the 
anterior  state.  The  marvellous  perfection  of  the  an- 
gelic spirits  is  due  to  this  mysterious  progression 
wherein  nothing  is  Iqst  of  the  qualities  successively 
acquired  in  order  to  attain  their  glorious  incarnation; 
for,  at  every  transformation,  they  lay  aside,  by  in- 
sensible degrees,  the  flesh  and  its  errors.  When 
man  lives  in  love,  he  has  abandoned  all  his  evil  pas- 
sions: hope,  charity,  faith,  prayer,  have,  to  use  the 
expression  of  Isaiah,  fanned  his  inward  being,  which 
can  no  more  be  polluted  by  any  earthly  affection. 
Whence  those  beautiful  words  of  Saint  Luke  :  Lay 


SERAPHITA  223 

up  for  yourselves  an  imperishable  treasure  in  heaven. 
And  these  words  of  Jesus  Christ:  Leave  this  world 
to  men,  it  is  theirs;  make  yourselves  pure  and  come  to 
my  father.  The  second  transformation  is  WISDOM. 
Wisdom  is  the  understanding  of  the  divine  things  to 
which  the  spirit  attains  through  love.  The  spirit  of 
love  has  overcome  force;  as  a  result  of  its  victory 
over  all  earthly  passions,  it  loves  God  blindly;  but 
the  spirit  of  wisdom  is  intelligent  and  knows  why  it 
loves.  The  wings  of  the  one  are  unfolded  and  carry 
it  away  toward  God;  the  wings  of  the  other  are  held 
fast  to  its  sides  by  the  terror  born  of  knowledge: 
it  knows  God.  One  constantly  longs  to  see  God 
and  rushes  toward  Him,  the  other  touches  Him  and 
trembles.  The  conjunction  of  a  spirit  of  love  and  a 
spirit  of  wisdom  raises  the  creature  to  the  divine 
state  during  which  his  mind  is  WOMAN,  and  his  body 
is  MAN,  the  supreme  development  of  humanity,  in 
which  spirit  carries  the  day  over  form,  in  which 
form  still  struggles  against  the  divine  spirit;  for  form, 
that  is,  the  flesh,  does  not  understand,  rebels,  and 
prefers  to  remain  immature.  That  supreme  test 
causes  incredible  suffering  which  Heaven  alone  sees, 
and  which  Christ  knew  on  the  Mount  of  Olives. 
After  death,  the  first  heaven  is  thrown  open  to  this 
twofold  purified  nature.  Thus  men  die  in  despair, 
while  the  spirit  dies  in  ecstasy.  Thus  the  NATURAL, 
the  state  of  unregenerate  beings;  the  SPIRITUAL,  the 
state  of  angelic  spirits;  and  the  DIVINE,  the  state  of 
the  angel  before  breaking  his  envelope,  are  the  three 
degrees  of  existence  by  which  man  attains  heaven. 


224  SERAPHITA 

A  reflection  of  Swedenborg's  will  explain  to  you 
with  marvellous  clearness  the  difference  between  the 
NATURAL  and  the  SPIRITUAL. 

"  'With  men,'  he  says,  'the  natural  passes  into 
the  spiritual,  they  view  the  world  in  its  visible  form, 
and  in  an  atmosphere  of  reality  adapted  to  their 
senses.  But  with  the  angelic  spirit,  the  spiritual 
passes  into  the  natural,  it  views  the  world  in  its 
inward  spirit  and  not  in  its  form.' 

"  In  like  manner,  our  human  knowledge  is  simply 
an  analysis  of  forms.  He  whom  the  world  considers 
a  learned  man  is  purely  exterior,  as  his  learning,  his 
inward  being,  serves  no  other  purpose  than  to  pre- 
serve his  aptitude  for  understanding  the  truth.  The 
angelic  spirit  goes  further  than  that:  its  knowledge  is 
the  thought  of  which  human  knowledge  is  only  the 
word;  it  derives  its  knowledge  of  things  from  Holy 
Writ,  by  learning  the  CORRESPONDENCES  which 
bring  heaven  and  earth  into  accord.  The  WORD  of 
God  was  written  throughout  with  reference  to  these 
correspondences,  it  conceals  an  inward  or  spiritual 
meaning  which  cannot  be  understood  without  a 
knowledge  of  the  correspondences.  '  There  are,' 
says  Sweden borg, — Celestial  Doctrine,  26, — '  innu- 
merable ARCANA  in  the  hidden  meaning  of  corre- 
spondences.' The  men  who  made  sport  of  the  books 
in  which  the  prophets  set  forth  the  Word  of  God  were 
in  the  same  condition  of  ignorance  as  those  men  of 
the  present  day  who  know  nothing  of  a  science  and 
make  sport  of  the  truths  of  that  science.  To  be 
familiar  with  the  correspondences  between  the  Word 


SERAPHITA  225 

and  the  heavens,  to  be  familiar  with  the  correspond- 
ences that  exist  between  the  visible  and  tangible 
things  of  the  earthly  world  and  the  invisible  and 
intangible  things  of  the  spiritual  world,  is  to  have 
heaven  in  one's  understanding.  All  the  objects  of 
the  various  creations  having  emanated  from  God, 
necessarily  intend  a  hidden  meaning,  as  is  said  in 
the  words  of  Isaiah:  The  earth  is  a  garment. — This 
mysterious  bond  between  the  smallest  particle  of 
matter  and  heaven  constitutes  what  Swedenborg 
calls  an  Arcanum  Ccelestium.  His  Treatise  upon  the' 
Arcana  Ccelestia,  in  which  are  explained  the  corre- 
spondences between  the  natural  and  the  spiritual 
and  their  significance,  being  designed  to  give  the 
signature  of  everything,  to  employ  the  expression  of 
Jacob  Boehm,  contains  no  less  than  sixteen  volumes 
and  thirteen  thousand  propositions. 

"  '  This  marvellous  knowledge  of  correspondences, 
which  God  in  His  goodness  allowed  Swedenborg  to 
acquire,'  says  one  of  his  disciples,  '  is  the  secret  of 
the  interest  aroused  by  these  works.'  According  to 
that  commentator,  '  there  everything  is  derived  from 
heaven,  everything  reminds  one  of  heaven.  The 
prophet's  writings  are  intelligible  and  sublime:  he 
speaks  in  heaven  and  makes  himself  heard  on  earth; 
one  could  base  a  volume  on  one  of  his  phrases.' 

"And  the  disciple  cites  this  among  a  thousand 
others: 

"  '  The  kingdom  of  heaven/  says  Swedenborg, — 
Arcana  Ccelestia, — '  is  the  kingdom  of  motives.    AC- 
TION begins  in  heaven  and  extends  to  the  earth,  and, 
15 


226  SERAPHITA 

by  degrees,  to  the  infinitely  small  things  of  earth; 
earthly  effects  being  connected  with  their  heavenly 
causes,  the  result  is  that  everything  CORRESPONDS 
and  is  SIGNIFICANT.  Man  is  the  bond  of  union  be- 
tween the  natural  and  the  spiritual.' 

"  The  angelic  spirits,  then,  are,  generally  speaking, 
acquainted  with  the  correspondence  between  every 
earthly  thing  and  something  in  heaven,  and  know 
the  secret  meaning  of  the  prophetic  words  which 
tell  of  earthly  revolutions.  And  so  to  those  spirits 
everything  on  earth  has  its  significance.  The  tiniest 
flower  is  a  thought,  a  life,  which  corresponds  to  some 
features  of  the  great  whole,  of  which  they  have 
a  constant  intuitive  consciousness.  To  them  the 
ADULTERY  and  debauchery  mentioned  by  the  Scrip- 
tures and  the  prophets,  who  are  often  maltreated  by 
self-styled  writers,  signify  the  condition  of  the  souls 
of  those  who  on  this  earth  persist  in  contaminating 
themselves  with  earthly  affections,  and  thus  perpet- 
uate their  divorce  from  heaven.  The  clouds  signify 
the  veil  in  which  God  wraps  himself.  The  torches, 
the  shewbread,  the  horses  and  the  horsemen,  the  har- 
lots, the  precious  stones,  everything  in  the  Scripture 
has  to  them  an  exquisite  meaning,  and  discloses  the 
future  of  earthly  things  in  their  relations  with  heaven. 
They  can  all  fathom  the  truth  of  the  ENUNCIATIONS 
of  Saint  John,  which  human  science  eventually  dem- 
onstrates and  proves;  as  this  one,  for  instance,  which 
is,  according  to  Swedenborg,  pregnant  with  the  es- 
sence of  several  human  sciences:  I  saw  a  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth,  for  the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth 


SERAPHITA  227 

had  passed  away. — Apocalypse  xxi.  i. — They  are  fa- 
miliar with  the  feasts  at  which  the  flesh  of  kings,  of 
free  men,  and  of  slaves  is  served,  and  to  which  an  angel 
standing  in  the  sunlight  bids  them  come. — Apocalypse 
xix.  11-18. — They  see  the  winged  woman,  clad  in  the 
sun's  rays,  and  the  man  always  armed. — Apocalypse. — 
The  horse  of  the  Apocalypse  is,  says  Swedenborg, 
the  visible  image  of  human  intelligence  ridden  by 
Death,  for  it  carries  the  elements  of  its  destruction. 
Lastly,  they  recognize  the  nations  concealed  under 
shapes  which  seem  fanciful  to  the  ignorant.  When 
a  man  is  prepared  to  receive  the  prophetic  insuffla- 
tion of  the  theory  of  correspondences,  it  awakes  in 
him  the  spirit  of  the  Word;  he  understands  then  that 
creation  is  only  transformation;  it  vivifies  his  intel- 
lect and  arouses  in  him  an  ardent  thirst  for  the 
truth,  which  can  be  slaked  only  in  heaven.  He 
comprehends,  according  to  the  greater  or  less  degree 
of  perfection  which  his  inward  sense  has  attained, 
the  power  of  the  angelic  spirits,  and  goes  forward, 
guided  by  desire,  the  least  imperfect  condition  of  un- 
regenerate  man,  toward  hope,  which  opens  to  him 
the  world  of  spirits;  then  he  arrives  at  prayer  which 
gives  him  the  key  to  heaven.  What  human  crea- 
ture would  not  long  to  make  himself  worthy  to  enter 
the  sphere  of  those  intellects  which  live  secretly  by 
love  or  by  wisdom  ?  Here  on  earth  those  spirits  re- 
main pure  during  their  lives;  they  do  not  see  nor 
think  nor  speak  like  other  men.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  perception:  one  inward,  the  other  exterior; 
man  is  all  exterior,  the  angelic  spirit  is  all  inward. 


228  SERAPHITA 

The  spirit  goes  to  the  root  of  numbers,  it  under- 
stands them  thoroughly,  it  knows  their  meanings. 
It  governs  motion  at  its  pleasure  and  makes  itself  a 
part  of  everything  by  virtue  of  its  ubiquity. — An 
angel,  according  to  the  Swedish  prophet,  appears 
to  another  whenever  he  desires — Sap.  Aug.  de  Div. 
Am. ; — for  he  has  the  gift  of  quitting  his  body,  and 
sees  heaven  as  the  prophets  saw  it,  and  as  Sweden- 
borg  himself  saw  it. 

"  '  In  that  condition,'  he  says, — True  Religion, 
136, — 'a  man's  spirit  is  transported  from  place  to 
place,  the  body  remaining  where  it  is, — a  condition 
in  which  I  lived  for  twenty-six  years.' 

"We  should  understand  in  that  sense  all  those 
passages  in  the  Bible  where  it  is  said:  The  spirit  car- 
ried me  away.  Angelic  wisdom  is  to  human  wisdom 
what  the  innumerable  forces  of  nature  are  to  its 
action,  which  is  one.  Everything  lives,  moves,  and 
has  its  being  in  the  spirit,  for  it  is  in  God;  such  is 
the  thought  expressed  by  Saint  Paul's  words:  In  Deo 
sumus,  movemur  etvivimus.  Earth  offers  no  obstacle 
to  the  spirit,  even  as  the  Word  offers  no  obscurity. 
Its  approaching  divinity  enables  it  to  see  God's 
thought  veiled  by  the  Word;  even  as  the  spirit, 
living  by  its  inward  perception,  communicates  with 
the  secret  meaning  hidden  under  all  the  things  of 
this  world.  Knowledge  is  the  language  of  the 
temporal  world,  love  is  the  language  of  the  spiritual 
world.  Man  describes  more  than  he  explains,  while 
the  angelic  spirit  sees  and  understands.  Knowledge 
saddens  man,  love  exalts  the  angel.  Knowledge  is 


SERAPHITA  229 

still  seeking,  love  has  found.  Man  judges  nature 
according  to  his  relations  with  it;  the  angelic  spirit 
judges  it  according  to  its  relations  with  heaven. 
Moreover,  everything  speaks  to  the  spirits.  The 
spirits  are  in  the  secret  of  the  harmony  of  the  various 
creations  among  themselves;  they  are  in  accord  with 
the  spirit  of  sound,  with  the  spirit  of  color,  with  the 
spirit  of  plant-life;  they  can  question  the  mineral, 
and  the  mineral  answers  their  thoughts.  What  are 
earthly  knowledge  and  earthly  treasures  to  them, 
when  their  eyes  embrace  them  all  at  every  moment, 
and  when  the  worlds  with  which  the  thoughts  of 
so  many  men  are  engrossed  are  to  the  spirits  simply 
the  topmost  step  from  which  they  are  about  to  dart 
upward  to  God?  The  love  of  heaven  or  the  wisdom 
of  heaven  is  indicated  in  them  by  the  circle  of  light 
which  surrounds  them  and  which  the  elect  can  see. 
In  their  innocence,  of  which  the  innocence  of  chil- 
dren is  the  outward  form,  they  have  a  knowledge  of 
things  which  children  have  not:  they  are  innocent 
and  learned. 

"'And/  says  Swedenborg,  'the  innocence  of 
heaven  makes  such  an  impression  upon  the  mind, 
that  they  who  are  affected  thereby  retain  an  ecstatic 
memory  of  it  that  endures  through  life,  as  I  have 
myself  experienced. — It  is  sufficient,  perhaps,'  he 
says  again,  'to  have  only  the  slightest  perception  of 
it  to  be  changed  forever  and  to  long  to  go  to  heaven 
and  thus  enter  the  sphere  of  hope.' 

"  His  doctrine  concerning  marriages  may  be  re- 
duced to  these  few  words: 


230  SERAPHITA 

"  '  The  Lord  took  the  beauty,  the  refinement,  of 
man's  life,  and  transferred  it  to  woman.  When  man 
is  not  reunited  to  the  beauty  and  refinement  of  his 
life,  he  is  harsh,  uncouth,  and  melancholy;  when  he 
is  reunited  to  it,  he  is  joyous  and  happy,  he  is  com- 
plete.' 

"  The  angels  are  always  perfectly  beautiful.  Their 
marriages  are  celebrated  by  wonderfully  impressive 
ceremonies.  In  those  unions,  of  which  no  children 
are  born,  the  man  gives  UNDERSTANDING,  the  woman 
gives  WILL:  they  become  a  single  being,  ONE  FLESH 
here  on  earth;  then  they  go  to  heaven  after  assum- 
ing the  celestial  form.  On  earth,  in  the  natural 
state  of  man,  the  natural  inclination  of  the  sexes,  for 
each  other  is  an  EFFECT  which  brings  weariness  and 
distaste  in  its  train;  but  in  their  celestial  guise,  the 
two  who  have  become  the  same  spirit  find  in  them- 
selves a  never-failing  source  of  pleasure.  Sweden- 
borg  witnessed  this  marriage  of  spirits,  which, 
according  to  Saint  Luke,  is  no  marriage, — xx.  35, — 
and  inspires  only  spiritual  enjoyment.  An  angel 
offered  to  allow  him  to  witness  a  marriage,  and  bore 
him  away  upon  his  wings: — the  wings  are  a  symbol, 
not  a  terrestrial  reality.  He  dressed  him  in  his 
festal  robe,  and  when  Swedenborg  found  himself 
clothed  in  light,  he  asked  why  it  was. 

"'On  these  occasions,'  the  angel  replied,  'our 
robes  become  radiant  and  shine  and  become  nup- 
tial robes.' — Delights  of  Conjugal  Love. 

"  Thereupon  he  saw  two  angels,  one  of  whom 
came  from  the  south,  the  other  from  the  east;  the 


SERAPHITA  231 

angel  from  the  south  rode  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  two 
white  horses  whose  reins  were  of  the  color  and  bril- 
liancy of  the  dawn;  but  when  they  were  close  by 
him,  in  the  sky,  chariot  and  horses  vanished.  The 
angel  from  the  east,  clad  in  purple,  and  the  angel 
from  the  south,  clad  in  hyacinth,  rushed  together 
like  two  breezes  and  were  indistinguishably  blended: 
one  was  an  angel  of  love,  the  other  an  angel  of  wis- 
dom. Swedenborg's  guide  informed  him  that  those 
two  angels  had  been  connected  on  earth  by  a  close 
friendship  and  had  always  continued  united  although 
separated  by  space.  Consent,  which  is  the  essen- 
tial of  lawful  marriages  on  earth,  is  the  normal 
state  of  the  angels  in  heaven.  Love  is  the  light  of 
their  world.  The  everlasting  bliss  of  the  angels  is 
due  to  the  faculty  God  bestows  upon  them  of  giving 
back  to  Him  the  joy  that  they  feel.  This  infinite 
mutuality  of  pleasure  is  their  life.  In  heaven  they 
become  infinite  by  partaking  the  essence  of  God 
which  is  born  of  itself.  The  immensity  of  the 
heavens  where  the  angels  live  is  such,  that,  if  man 
were  endowed  with  vision  as  swift  as  the  light  that 
comes  from  the  sun  to  the  earth,  and  if  he  should 
gaze  throughout  all  eternity,  his  eyes  would  never 
reach  a  horizon  upon  which  they  could  rest.  The 
light  alone  suffices  to  explain  the  felicity  that  reigns 
in  heaven.  It  is,  he  says, — Angelic  Wisdom,  7,  25, 
26,  27, — a  vapor  of  the  virtue  of  God,  a  pure  emana- 
tion of  His  radiance,  in  comparison  with  which  our 
bright  sunlight  is  darkness.  It  can  accomplish  any- 
thing, it  revivifies  everything,  and  is  not  absorbed; 


232  SERAPHITA 

it  envelops  the  angel  and  places  him  in  touch  with 
God  by  means  of  the  infinite  delights  which  multi- 
ply endlessly  of  themselves.  That  light  destroys 
every  man  who  is  not  prepared  to  receive  it.  No 
one  on  earth,  nor  even  in  heaven,  can  look  upon 
God  and  live.  That  is  why,  it  is  said, — Exodus 
xix.  12,  13,  21,  22,  23, — that  bounds  should  be  set 
about  the  mountain  whereon  Moses  spake  with  the 
Lord,  lest  anyone  should  touch  it  and  therefore  be 
put  to  death.  And  again, — Exodus  xxxiv.  29-35, — 
that,  when  Moses  came  down  from  Mount  Sinai  with 
the  two  tables  of  testimony  in  his  hand,  his  face 
shone  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  cover  it  with  a  veil, 
so  that  no  one  might  die  while  he  was  speaking  to 
the  people.  The  transfiguration  of  Jesus  Christ 
typifies  both  the  radiance  shed  abroad  by  a  mes- 
senger from  heaven  and  the  ineffable  bliss  that  the 
angels  experience  from  being  constantly  flooded  with 
it.  His  face,  says  Saint  Matthew, — xvii.  1-5, — shone 
like  the  sun,  and  his  raiment  was  white  as  the  light. — 
And  a  bright  cloud  overshadowed  his  disciples.  And 
so,  when  a  planet  contains  only  beings  who  deny 
God,  when  His  Word  is  neglected,  when  the  angelic 
spirits  have  been  summoned  from  the  four  corners  of 
space,  God  sends  an  exterminating  angel  to  trans- 
form the  substance  of  the  refractory  world  which 
is  to  Him,  in  the  immensity  of  the  universe,  what 
an  unfruitful  seed  is  in  nature.  As  he  approaches 
the  globe,  the  exterminating  angel,  riding  on  a 
comet,  makes  it  turn  upon  its  axis:  thereupon  the 
continents  become  the  bottoms  of  seas,  the  loftiest 


SERAPHITA  233 

mountains  become  islands,  and  countries  formerly 
covered  with  the  waters  of  the  sea  reappear  in  their 
brilliant  garb,  obeying  the  laws  of  Genesis;  then  the 
Word  of  God  reasserts  its  power  over  a  new  earth 
which  retains  everywhere  the  effects  of  the  earthly 
water  and  the  heavenly  fire.  The  light  brought  by 
the  angel  from  on  high  makes  the  sun's  light  seem 
pale.  Thereupon,  as  Isaiah  says,  the  men  enter  into 
the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  they  hide  their  faces  in  the 
dust.  They  cry  to  the  mountains:  '  Fall  upon  us!' 
To  the  sea:  'Take  us!'  To  the  air:  '  Hide  us  from 
the  fury  of  the  Lamb!' — The  Lamb  is  the  favorite 
image  of  the  angels  who  are  slighted  and  persecuted 
on  earth.  And  so  Christ  said:  '  Blessed  are  they  who 
suffer!  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart!  Blessed  are 
they  who  love!' — The  whole  of  Swedenborg's  doc- 
trine is  found  in  those  words:  To  suffer,  to  have 
faith,  to  love.  To  love  truly,  must  not  one  have  suf- 
fered, and  must  not  one  have  faith?  Love  engenders 
strength,  and  strength  gives  wisdom;  thence  is  de- 
rived intelligence;  for  force  and  wisdom  import  will. 
To  be  intelligent  is  to  have  knowledge,  wisdom,  and 
power,  the  three  attributes  of  the  angelic  spirit. 

"  '  If  the  universe  has  a  meaning,  it  is  the  mean- 
ing most  worthy  of  God,'  said  Monsieur  Saint-Martin 
to  me,  when  I  saw  him  during  his  travels  in  Sweden. 

"  But,  monsieur,"  continued  Monsieur  Becker, 
after  a  pause,  "  what  significance  have  these  frag- 
ments culled  here  and  there  from  a  work  of  which 
one  can  give  no  idea,  save  by  comparing  it  to  a 
flood  of  light,  to  billows  of  flame?  When  a  man 


234  SERAPHITA 

plunges  into  it,  he  is  carried  away  by  a  terrible  cur- 
rent. Dante  Alighieri's  poem  seems  a  mere  speck 
to  him  who  plunges  into  the  innumerable  verses  in 
which  Swedenborg  brings  the  celestial  worlds  before 
us,  as  Beethoven  built  his  palaces  of  harmony  with 
myriads  of  notes,  as  architects  erect  their  cathedrals 
with  myriads  of  stone.  You  wander  about  in  bot- 
tomless abysses,  where  your  mind  does  not  always 
sustain  you.  Surely  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  power- 
ful intellect  in  order  to  return  thence  to  our  social 
ideas,  safe  and  sound. 

"Swedenborg,"  continued  the  pastor,  "was  par- 
ticularly attached  to  the  Baron  de  Seraphitz,  whose 
name,  according  to  an  ancient  Swedish  custom,  had 
been  written  from  time  immemorial  with  the  Latin 
termination  us.  The  baron  was  the  most  ardent 
disciple  of  the  Swedish  prophet,  who  had  opened  the 
eyes  of  his  inward  man,  and  had  formed  him  for  a 
life  consistent  with  the  commands  from  on  high.  He 
sought  an  angelic  spirit  among  women,  and  Sweden- 
borg found  such  a  one  for  him  in  a  vision.  His  be- 
trothed was  the  daughter  of  a  cobbler  in  London,  in 
whom,  so  said  Swedenborg,  heavenly  life  was  most 
brilliantly  exemplified,  and  who  had  passed  the  pre- 
liminary tests.  After  the  prophet's  transformation, 
the  baron  came  to  Jarvis  to  consummate  his  celestial 
nuptials  by  prayer.  For  my  own  part,  monsieur,  as 
I  am  not  a  seer,  I  saw  only  the  earthly  works  of  that 
couple:  their  life  was  in  very  truth  the  life  of  the 
saints  whose  virtues  are  the  glory  of  the  Roman 
Church.  They  both  devoted  themselves  to  relieving 


SERAPHITA  235 

the  poverty  of  the  people,  and  supplied  them,  one 
and  all,  with  such  sums  as  did  not  indeed  enable 
them  to  live  without  a  little  work,  but  sufficed  for 
their  absolute  needs;  the  servants  who  lived  with 
them  never  knew  them  to  exhibit  anger  or  impa- 
tience; they  were  invariably  beneficent  and  gentle, 
overflowing  with  amiability,  grace,  and  true  good- 
ness; their  marriage  was  the  harmonious  union  of 
two  souls  never  disunited.  Two  eider-ducks  flying 
in  company,  sound  and  its  echo,  thought  and  its  ver- 
bal expression,  are,  perhaps,  imperfect  symbols  of 
that  union.  In  this  place,  everyone  loved  them  with 
an  affection  which  can  be  described  only  by  com- 
paring it  to  the  love  of  the  plant  for  the  sun.  The 
woman  was  simple  in  her  manners,  lovely  in  form 
and  feature,  and  of  a  noble  bearing  like  that  of  the 
most  august  personages.  In  1783,  in  the  twenty- 
sixth  year  of  her  age,  that  woman  gave  birth  to  a 
child;  its  coming  into  the  world  was  an  occasion 
of  solemn  rejoicing.  Thus  the  husband  and  wife 
bade  farewell  to  the  world,  for  they  told  me  that 
they  should  undoubtedly  be  transformed  when  their 
child  should  have  laid  aside  the  garment  of  flesh, 
which  required  their  care  until  the  moment  when  the 
strength  to  exist  by  itself  should  be  bestowed  upon 
it.  The  child  was  born,  and  was  this  same  Sera- 
phita  who  is  in  our  minds  at  this  moment;  after  her 
birth,  her  father  and  mother  led  a  more  solitary 
life  than  before,  raising  themselves  heavenward  by 
prayer.  Their  one  hope  was  to  see  Swedenborg, 
and  their  faith  brought  the  fulfilment  of  their  hope. 


236  SERAPHITA 

On  the  day  of  Seraphita's  birth,  Swedenborg  ap- 
peared in  Jarvis  and  filled  with  a  flood  of  light  the 
room  in  which  the  child  lay.  His  words,  it  is  said, 
were  these: 

"  '  The  work  is  accomplished,  the  heavens  re- 
joice!' 

"  The  servants  in  the  house  heard  strangely  me- 
lodious sounds  which,  they  said,  seemed  to  be  borne 
on  the  winds  from  all  points  of  the  compass.  Sweden- 
borg's  spirit  beckoned  the  father  from  the  house  and 
led  him  to  the  fiord,  where  it  left  him.  Some  of 
the  natives  of  Jarvis,  approaching  the  barn  at  that 
moment,  heard  him  pronounce  these  beautiful  words 
of  Scripture: 

"  '  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountain  are  the  feet 
of  the  angel  who  bringeth  good  tidings!' 

"  I  was  on  my  way  from  the  rectory  to  the  cha- 
teau, to  baptize  the  child,  christen  her,  and  perform 
the  duties  which  the  laws  impose  upon  me,  when  I 
met  the  baron. 

"'Your  services  are  not  needed,'  he  said;  'our 
child  will  have  no  name  on  this  earth.  You  shall 
not  baptize  with  the  water  of  the  earthly  Church 
the  child  who  has  been  immersed  in  the  flames  of 
heaven.  That  child  will  remain  a  flower;  you  will 
not  see  it  grow  old,  you  will  see  it  pass  away;  you 
have  existence,  it  has  life;  you  have  outward  senses, 
it  has  none;  it  is  all  inward.' 

"These  words  were  uttered  in  a  supernatural 
voice  by  which  I  was  even  more  deeply  affected 
than  by  the  radiance  stamped  upon  his  face,  which 


SERAPHITA  237 

exuded  light.  His  appearance  realized  the  fantastic 
images  we  conceive  of  the  inspired  prophets,  as  we 
read  the  prophetic  books  of  the  Bible.  But  such 
effects  are  not  rare  among  our  mountains,  where  the 
nitrogen  contained  in  the  everlasting  snow  produces 
extraordinary  phenomena  in  our  organizations.  I 
asked  him  the  cause  of  his  excitement. 

"  '  Swedenborg  has  been  with  me,  I  have  just  left 
him,  I  have  breathed  the  air  of  heaven/  he  replied. 

"  '  In  what  shape  did  he  appear  to  you?'  I  asked. 

'"In  his  mortal  shape,  dressed  as  he  was  the  last 
time  I  saw  him,  in  London,  at  Richard  Shearsmith's 
house,  in  the  district  called  Coldbath  Fields,  in  July, 
1771.  He  wore  his  ratteen  coat  of  changeable  color, 
with  steel  buttons,  his  waistcoat  buttoned  to  the 
throat,  his  white  cravat,  and  the  same  magisterial 
wig  with  powdered  rolls  at  the  sides  and  the  hair 
brushed  back  in  front  in  such  way  as  to  display  that 
noble,  luminous  brow,  so  fully  in  harmony  with  his 
great  square  face,  in  which  all  is  power  and  tranquil- 
lity. I  recognized  that  nose  with  its  broad  nostrils 
breathing  fire;  I  saw  once  more  that  mouth  which 
always  smiled,  that  angelic  mouth,  whence  these 
words  issued,  fraught  with  happiness  for  me:  "We 
shall  soon  meet  again!"  And  I  felt  the  splendor  of 
the  celestial  love.' 

"The  conviction  that  shone  in  the  baron's  face 
forbade  all  argument, — and  I  listened  to  him  in 
silence;  his  voice  had  a  contagious  warmth  which 
made  my  entrails  glow,  his  fanaticism  stirred  my 
heart  as  another's  anger  makes  one's  nerves  tingle. 


238  SERAPHITA 

I  followed  him  in  silence  to  his  house,  where  I  saw 
the  nameless  child  lying  upon  her  mother,  who  held 
her  in  a  mysterious  embrace.  Seraphita  heard  me 
enter,  and  raised  her  head  to  look  at  me;  her  eyes 
were  not  like  those  of  an  ordinary  child;  I  cannot 
describe  the  impression  they  made  upon  me  better 
than  by  saying  that  they  seemed  to  see  and  think 
already.  That  predestined  child's  infancy  was  ac- 
companied by  climatic  conditions  most  extraordinary 
in  our  latitude.  For  nine  years  our  winters  were 
milder  and  our  summers  longer  than  usual.  That 
phenomenon  caused  much  discussion  among  scientific 
men;  but,  although  their  explanations  may  have 
seemed  convincing  to  the  members  of  the  Academy, 
the  baron  smiled  when  I  reported  them  to  him. 
Seraphita  was  never  seen  naked  as  children  some- 
times are;  she  was  never  touched  by  man  or  woman; 
she  lived  upon  her  mother's  breast  and  never  cried. 
Old  David  will  confirm  these  statements  if  you  ques- 
tion him  concerning  his  mistress,  for  whom  he  has 
an  adoration  like  that  which  the  king  whose  name 
he  bears  had  for  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant.  At  the 
age  of  nine,  the  child  began  to  devote  herself  to 
prayer:  prayer  is  her  life;  you  saw  her  in  our  little 
temple  at  Christmas,  the  only  day  she  comes  there; 
she  stands  at  some  distance  from  the  other  Christians 
there.  If  there  is  not  that  distance  between  herself 
and  her  fellow-men,  she  suffers.  For  that  reason 
she  remains  at  the  chateau  most  of  the  time.  The 
incidents  of  her  life  are  not  known;  she  rarely  shows 
herself;  her  faculties,  her  sensations — all  are  inward; 


SERAPHITA  239 

she  passes  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  the  state 
of  mystic  meditation  usual,  say  the  popish  writers, 
among  the  early  Christian  hermits,  in  whom  the 
tradition  of  the  Word  of  Christ  still  lived.  Her 
understanding,  her  soul,  her  body,  everything  about 
her  is  as  spotless  as  the  snow  upon  our  mountains. 
At  ten  years  of  age,  she  was  just  as  you  see  her  now. 
When  she  was  but  nine,  her  father  and  mother  died 
together,  painlessly,  without  apparent  disease,  having 
foretold  the  hour  at  which  they  should  cease  to  live. 
Standing  at  their  feet,  she  looked  at  them  with  a  calm 
eye,  with  no  indication  of  sadness  or  grief  or  joy  or 
curiosity;  her  father  and  mother  smiled  upon  her. 
When  we  came  to  take  away  the  bodies,  she  said: 

"  '  Take  them  away!' 

"  '  Seraphita,'  I  said,  for  we  have  always  called 
her  so,  '  pray,  are  you  not  grieved  by  the  death  of 
father  and  mother?  they  loved  you  so  dearly!' 

"  '  Death?'  said  she.  'Why,  no;  they  are  in  me 
forever.  These  are  nothing,'  she  added,  pointing 
without  the  slightest  emotion  to  the  bodies  that  were 
being  removed. 

"  That  was  the  third  time  I  had  seen  her  since 
her  birth.  It  is  difficult  to  distinguish  her  in  the 
temple,  for  she  stands  beside  the  pillar  which  sup- 
ports the  pulpit,  in  a  shadow  which  makes  it  impos- 
sible to  see  her  features.  Of  those  who  had  been 
servants  in  the  family,  the  only  one  remaining  at  the 
time  of  that  event  was  old  David,  who,  despite  his 
eighty-two  years,  sufficed  for  his  mistress's  needs. 
Some  of  the  Jarvis  people  have  told  marvellous 


240  SERAPHITA 

stories  about  this  girl.  As  their  tales  have  acquired 
a  certain  currency  in  a  country  essentially  fond  of 
mysteries,  I  have  undertaken  to  study  Wier's  Trea- 
tise upon  Incantations,  and  works  relating  to  demon- 
ology,  in  which  are  narrated  alleged  supernatural 
effects  in  man,  trying  to  find  some  facts  analogous 
to  those  which  are  attributed  to  her." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  her?"  queried  Wil- 
frid. 

"  Indeed,  no,"  replied  the  pastor  good-humoredly; 
"in  my  eyes  she  is  an  extremely  capricious  girl, 
spoiled  by  her  parents,  who  turned  her  head  with 
the  religious  ideas  I  have  just  sketched." 

Minna  made  a  motion  with  her  head  expressive  of 
mild  negation. 

"Poor  girl!"  continued  the  pastor,  "her  parents 
bequeathed  to  her  the  deplorable  mental  exaltation 
which  leads  persons  of  a  mystical  turn  astray  and 
makes  them  more  or  less  mad.  She  restricts  herself 
to  a  diet  that  drives  poor  David  to  despair.  That 
excellent  old  man  resembles  a  fragile  plant  which 
sways  in  the  slightest  breeze,  which  blooms  in  the 
slightest  ray  of  sunlight.  His  mistress,  whose  in- 
comprehensible language  he  has  adopted,  is  his  wind 
and  his  son;  in  his  eyes,  her  feet  are  of  diamonds  and 
her  brow  is  studded  with  stars;  she  walks  encircled 
by  a  luminous  white  atmosphere;  her  words  are  ac- 
companied by  music;  she  has  the  power  of  making 
herself  invisible.  Ask  to  see  her:  he  will  tell  you 
that  she  is  travelling  among  the  stars.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  believe  in  such  fables.  As  you  know,  every 


SERAPHITA  241 

miracle  resembles  more  or  less  the  story  of  the 
Golden  Tooth.  We  have  a  golden  tooth  in  Jarvis, 
that's  the  whole  of  it.  For  instance,  Duncker  the 
fisherman  declares  that  he  has  sometimes  seen  her 
dive  into  the  fiord  and  come  out  in  the  form  of  an 
eider-duck,  and  sometimes  walking  on  the  waves 
during  a  storm.  Fergus,  who  drives  the  flocks  to 
the  soekrs,  says  that  he  has  noticed  that,  in  rainy 
weather,  the  sky  is  always  bright  above  the  Swe- 
dish chateau,  and  always  blue  over  Seraphita's  head 
when  she  comes  out.  Many  women  hear  the  notes 
of  an  immense  organ  when  Seraphita  comes  into  the 
temple,  and  ask  their  neighbors  in  all  seriousness  if 
they  do  not  hear  them  too.  But  my  daughter,  of 
whom  Seraphita  has  seemed  very  fond  for  two  years 
past,  has  heard  no  music,  nor  has  she  smelt  the 
heavenly  perfumes  with  which  they  say  the  air  is 
laden  when  she  goes  out  to  walk.  Minna  has  often 
returned  home  overflowing  with  artless  girlish  ad- 
miration of  the  beauties  of  our  spring;  she  has 
seemed  intoxicated  by  the  fragrance  exhaled  by  the 
first  buds  of  the  larches,  pines,  or  flowers,  which  they 
had  breathed  together;  but,  after  such  a  long  winter, 
nothing  can  be  more  natural  than  that  excessive  en- 
joyment. There  is  nothing  very  extraordinary  in 
this  demon's  society,  is  there,  my  child?" 

"His  secrets  are  not  mine,"  replied  Minna. 
"With  him,  I  know  everything;  away  from  him,  I 
know  nothing:  with  him,  I  cease  to  be  myself;  away 
from  him,  I  entirely  forget  that  blissful  life.  To  see 
him  is  a  dream,  the  memory  of  which  abides  with 
16 


242  SERAPHITA 

x 

me  or  not,  as  he  pleases.  I  have  heard  when  with 
him,  but  forgotten  when  away  from  him,  the  music 
to  which  Bancker's  wife  and  Erikson's  refer;  with 
him,  I  have  smelt  celestial  perfumes  and  seen  mar- 
vellous things,  and  I  lose  all  remembrance  of  them 
here." 

"The  thing  that  has  surprised  me  most  since  I 
have  known  her,"  said  the  pastor,  addressing  Wil- 
frid, "  is  her  allowing  you  to  be  with  her." 

"  With  her!"  said  the  young  man;  "  she  has  never 
let  me  kiss  her,  or  even  touch  her  hand.  When  she 
saw  me  for  the  first  time,  her  glance  cowed  me;  she 
said  to  me:  '  Welcome  to  this  place,  for  you  were 
destined  to  come.'  She  seemed  to  know  me.  I 
trembled.  Fear  made  me  believe  in  her." 

"And  love  made  me,"  said  Minna,  without  a 
blush. 

"Are  you  not  laughing  at  me?"  said  Monsieur 
Becker,  laughing  good-naturedly;  "you,  my  daugh- 
ter, in  claiming  to  be  a  spirit  of  love,  and  you,  mon- 
sieur, in  making  yourself  out  a  spirit  of  wisdom?" 

He  drank  a  glass  of  beer,  and  did  not  notice  the 
singular  glance  Wilfrid  bestowed  upon  Minna. 

"  Joking  aside,"  the  minister  resumed,  "  I  was 
very  greatly  surprised  to  learn  that  to-day,  for  the 
first  time,  these  two  madcaps  have  been  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Falberg;  is  it  anything  more  than  the 
exaggeration  of  a  couple  of  girls  who  have  climbed 
some  little  hill?  It  is  impossible  to  reach  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Falberg." 

"Father,"  said  Minna,  in  a  voice  denoting  deep 


SERAPHITA  243 

emotion,  "then  I  must  have  been  in  the  demon's 
power,  for  I  climbed  the  Falberg  with  him." 

"  This  is  becoming  serious,"  said  Monsieur  Becker; 
"Minna  has  never  told  a  falsehood." 

"  Monsieur  Becker,"  rejoined  Wilfrid,  "  I  give  you 
my  word  that  Seraphita  exerts  such  extraordinary 
power  over  me  that  I  know  of  no  words  that  will 
convey  an  idea  of  it.  She  has  told  me  things  that 
nobody  but  myself  could  possibly  know." 

"  Somnambulism!"  rejoined  the  old  man.  "  Sev- 
eral occurrences  of  that  nature  are  reported  by  Wier 
as  phenomena  readily  explainable,  and  observed  long 
ago  in  Egypt." 

"Lend  me  Swedenborg's  theosophical  works," 
said  Wilfrid;  "  I  am  anxious  to  plunge  into  those 
abysses  of  light,  you  have  given  me  a  thirst  for 
them." 

Monsieur  Becker  handed  a  volume  to  Wilfrid,  who 
at  once  began  to  read.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock. 
The  servant  appeared  to  serve  supper.  Minna  made 
the  tea.  The  repast  at  an  end,  all  three  became 
deeply  engrossed,  the  pastor  reading  the  Treatise 
upon  Incantations,  Wilfrid  imbibing  the  spirit  of 
Swedenborg  and  Minna  sewing,  lost  in  her  mem- 
ories. It  was  a  true  Norwegian  evening  party, 
peaceful,  studious,  full  of  thought,  of  flowers  under 
the  snow.  As  he  devoured  the  pages  of  the  prophet, 
Wilfrid  ceased  to  live  by  his  external  senses.  Now 
and  then  the  pastor,  with  a  half-serious,  half-laugh- 
ing expression,  called  Minna's  attention  to  him, 
whereupon  she  smiled  with  a  sort  of  sadness. 


244  SERAPHITA 

Meanwhile,  Seraphitus's  face,  hovering  over  the 
cloud  of  smoke  that  enveloped  all  three  of  them, 
smiled  upon  Minna. 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  The  outer  door  was 
violently  thrown  open.  Heavy,  precipitate  steps, 
the  steps  of  a  terrified  old  man,  were  heard  in  the 
narrow  anteroom  between  the  two  doors.  Then 
David  abruptly  appeared  in  the  parlor. 

"Violence!  violence!"  he  cried.  "Come!  come  all! 
The  demons  are  unloosed !  they  have  mitres  of  fire 
on  their  heads!  There  are  Adonises,  Vertumnuses, 
sirens!  they  are  tempting  him  as  Jesus  was  tempted 
on  the  mountain.  Come  and  drive  them  away!" 

"  Do  you  recognize  Swedenborg's  language?  there 
you  have  it  unadulterated,"  laughed  the  pastor. 

But  Minna  and  Wilfrid  gazed  in  terror  at  old  David, 
who,  his  white  hair  flying,  wild-eyed,  his  legs  trem- 
bling and  covered  with  snow, — for  he  had  come  with- 
out snow-shoes, — stood  there  swaying  to  and  fro  as 
if  a  mighty  wind  were  blowing  upon  him. 

"  What  has  happened?"  Minna  asked  him. 

"  Why,  the  devils  hope  and  intend  to  reconquer 
him." 

Those  words  made  Wilfrid's  heart  beat  fast. 

"For  nearly  five  hours  she  has  been  standing  with 
her  eyes  raised  to  heaven  and  arms  outstretched; 
she  suffers,  she  cries  out  to  God.  I  cannot  pass  the 
bounds  of  the  circle,  hell  has  stationed  Vertumnuses 
as  sentinels.  They  have  built  walls  of  fire  between 
her  and  her  old  David.  If  she  needs  me,  what  shall 
I  do?  Help  me!  come  and  pray!" 


SERAPHITA  245 

The  poor  old  man's  despair  was  horrible  to  see. 

"  The  radiance  of  God  defends  her;  but  suppose 
she  should  yield  to  violence?"  he  continued,  with 
fascinating  good  faith. 

"  Silence!  David,  do  not  talk  nonsense!  This  is  a 
statement  to  be  verified.  We  will  accompany  you," 
said  the  pastor,  "  and  you  will  see  that  there  are 
neither  Vertumnuses,  nor  devils,  nor  sirens  in  your 
house." 

"Your  father  is  blind,"  said  David  to  Minna  in 
an  undertone. 

Wilfrid,  upon  whom  the  reading  of  one  of  Sweden- 
borg's  earlier  treatises,  which  he  had  rapidly  run 
through,  had  produced  a  most  prodigious  effect,  was 
already  in  the  corridor,  engaged  in  putting  on  his 
snow-shoes.  Minna  was  ready  in  a  moment.  They 
left  the  two  old  men  behind  and  hurried  away  toward 
the  Swedish  chateau. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  cracking?"  said  Wilfrid. 

"The  ice  in  the  fiord  is  moving,"  replied  Minna; 
"  but  the  spring  will  soon  be  here." 

Wilfrid  was  silent.  When  they  were  both  in  the 
courtyard,  they  did  not  feel  that  they  had  either 
the  ability  or  the  strength  to  enter  the  house. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her?"  asked  Wilfrid. 

"What  a  brilliant  light!"  cried  Minna,  as  she 
took  her  place  in  front  of  the  window  of  the  salon. 
"  There  he  is!  my  God,  how  handsome  he  is!  O  my 
Seraphitus,  take  me!" 

The  girl's  exclamation  was  entirely  mental.  She 
saw  Seraphitus  standing,  lightly  enveloped  in  an 


246  SERAPHITA 

opal-colored  mist  which  escaped  from  that  almost 
phosphoric  body. 

"  How  lovely  she  is!"  cried  Wilfrid,  also  mentally. 

At  that  moment,  Monsieur  Becker  arrived,  followed 
by  David;  he  saw  his  daughter  and  the  stranger 
standing  in  front  of  the  window,  stood  beside  them, 
looked  into  the  salon,  and  said: 

"Well,  David,  she  is  saying  her  prayers." 

"  But  just  try  to  go  in,  monsieur." 

"Why  disturb  those  who  are  praying?"  replied 
the  pastor. 

At  that  moment,  the  moon  rose  over  the  Falberg 
and  its  beams  fell  upon  the  window.  They  all 
turned,  impressed  by  that  natural  phenomenon, 
which  startled  them;  but  when  they  turned  again 
to  look  at  Seraphita,  she  had  disappeared. 

"That  is  very  strange!"  said  Wilfrid  in  surprise. 

"I  heard  entrancing  sounds!"  said  Minna. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  said  the  pastor;  "she  has 
gone  to  bed,  no  doubt." 

David  had  entered  the  house.  They  returned 
to  the  rectory  in  silence;  no  two  of  them  understood 
the  meaning  of  that  vision  in  the  same  way:  Mon- 
sieur Becker  was  sceptical,  Minna  adored,  Wilfrid 
desired. 

Wilfrid  was  a  man  of  thirty-six.  Although  very 
fully  developed,  his  proportions  were  not  inhar- 
monious. He  was  of  medium  height,  like  almost  all 
men  who  raise  themselves  above  their  fellow-men; 
his  chest  and  shoulders  were  broad  and  his  neck 
was  short,  like  that  of  a  man  whose  heart  seems  to 


SERAPHITA  247 

be  near  his  head;  his  hair  was  black  and  thick  and 
fine;  his  eyes,  of  a  light-brown  shade,  possessed  a 
sunlike  brilliancy  which  showed  how  eagerly  his 
nature  longed  for  the  light.  Although  his  virile,  ex- 
cited features  were  lacking  in  the  inward  calmness 
imparted  by  a  life  without  storms,  they  indicated 
the  inexhaustible  resources  of  impetuous  feelings 
and  the  appetites  of  instinct;  just  as  his  motions 
indicated  the  perfection  of  physical  conformation, 
the  flexibility  of  the  muscles  and  the  fidelity  of  their 
play.  That  man  might  contend  with  the  savage, 
hear  like  him  the  step  of  a  foe  far  away  in  the  forest, 
scent  his  presence  in  the  air,  and  detect  a  friend's 
signal  on  the  horizon.  He  slept  lightly,  like  all  crea- 
tures who  do  not  wish  to  be  surprised.  His  body 
speedily  placed  itself  in  harmony  with  the  climate  of 
the  countries  to  which  his  adventurous  life  led  him. 
Art  and  science  would  have  admired  that  man's 
organization  as  a  model  for  mankind;  in  him  all 
things  were  in  equilibrium:  impulse  and  heart,  intel- 
lect and  will. 

At  first,  it  seemed  as  if  he  should  be  classed  among 
the  purely  instinctive  beings  who  abandon  them- 
selves blindly  to  their  material  needs;  but,  in  the 
morning  of  his  life,  he  had  found  his  way  into 
the  social  circle  to  which  his  feelings  guided  him; 
study  had  broadened  his  intelligence,  meditation  had 
sharpened  his  thought,  the  sciences  had  enlarged  his 
understanding.  He  had  studied  human  laws,  the 
action  of  selfish  interests  brought  into  play  by 
passions,  and  seemed  to  have  made  himself  familiar 


248  SERAPHITA 

early  in  life  with  the  abstract  ideas  upon  which  so- 
cieties rest.  He  had  grown  pale  over  books,  which 
are  the  dead  acts  of  mankind;  then  he  had  passed 
sleepless  nights  in  European  capitals  amid  festivals; 
he  had  awakened  in  more  beds  than  one;  he  had 
slept,  it  may  be,  upon  the  battle-field  during  the 
night  preceding  the  combat  and  the  night  following 
the  victory;  it  may  be  that,  in  his  stormy  youth,  he 
had  sailed  to  the  most  strikingly  contrasted  por- 
tions of  the  globe  on  the  deck  of  a  corsair;  thus  he 
was  familiar  with  the  living  acts  of  mankind.  He 
knew  the  present  and  the  past,  the  history  of  an- 
cient times  and  of  to-day.  Many  men  have  been, 
like  Wilfrid,  equally  strong  in  hand  and  heart  and 
head;  like  him,  the  majority  of  them  have  abused 
their  threefold  power.  But,  even  if  that  man  were 
still  allied  to  the  degraded  portion  of  humanity  by 
his  outer  envelope,  he  certainly  belonged  in  equal 
degree  to  the  sphere  where  force  is  intelligent. 
Despite  the  veils  in  which  his  mind  enveloped  itself, 
there  were  to  be  seen  in  him  those  indescribable 
symptoms  that  are  visible  to  the  eye  of  pure  crea- 
tures, of  children  whose  innocence  has  felt  the 
breath  of  no  evil  passion,  of  the  old  man  who  has 
regained  his  innocence;  those  marks  denoted  a  Cain 
who  still  retained  some  hope,  and  who  seemed  to  be 
seeking  absolution  in  some  form  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  Minna  suspected  in  that  man  the  galley- 
slave  of  renown,  and  Seraphita  knew  him  to  be 
such;  both  admired  and  pitied  him.  Whence  came 
their  prescience?  Nothing  could  be  more  simple  and 


AN  EVENING  AT   THE  PASTOR'S 


The  repast  at  an  end,  all  three  became  deeply 
engrossed,  the  pastor  reading  the  Treatise  upon  In- 
cantations, Wilfrid  imbibing  the  spirit  of  Swedenborg 
and  Minna  sewing,  lost  in  her  memories.  It  was  a 
true  Norwegian  evening  party. 


I 


SERAPHITA  249 

at  the  same  time  more  extraordinary.  As  soon  as 
man  attempts  to  fathom  the  secrets  of  nature,  where 
nothing  is  secret,  where  it  is  simply  a  question  of 
seeing,  he  discovers  that  there  the  simple  produces 
the  marvellous. 

"  Seraphitus,"  said  Minna  one  evening,  a  few 
days  after  Wilfrid's  arrival  at  Jarvis,  "  you  read  this 
stranger's  mind,  while  I  receive  only  vague  im- 
pressions from  him.  He  either  freezes  me  or  warms 
me;  but  you  seem  to  know  the  cause  of  that  cold  or 
warmth;  you  can  tell  me  what  it  is,  for  you  know 
everything  about  him." 

"Yes,  1  have  seen  the  causes,"  said  Seraphitus, 
lowering  his  broad  lids  over  his  eyes. 

"  By  what  power?"  asked  the  inquisitive  Minna. 

"I  have  the  gift  of  specialization,"  he  replied. 
"Specialization  constitutes  a  sort  of  inward  sight 
which  penetrates  everything;  you  can  understand 
its  extent  only  by  a  comparison.  In  the  great  cities 
of  Europe,  from  which  come  works  in  which  the 
hand  of  man  strives  to  represent  the  effects  of 
the  moral  nature  as  well  as  those  of  the  physical 
nature,  there  are  men  of  sublime  talent  who  express 
ideas  with  marble.  The  sculptor  works  upon  the 
marble:  he  shapes  it,  and  expresses  a  world  of 
thoughts  therein.  There  are  statues  upon  which 
the  hand  of  man  has  bestowed  the  power  to  repre- 
sent an  entire  sublime  or  evil  side  of  humanity; 
most  men  see  therein  a  human  figure  and  nothing 
more;  others,  occupying  a  position  somewhat  higher 
on  the  ladder  of  human  beings,  detect  a  portion  of  the 


250  SERAPHITA 

thoughts  translated  by  the  sculptor,  they  admire 
the  shape  of  the  figure;  but  they  who  are  initiated 
in  the  secrets  of  the  art  all  fully  understand  the 
sculptor:  when  they  look  upon  his  work,  they  rec- 
ognize the  whole  world  of  his  thoughts.  They  are 
the  princes  of  art,  they  bear  within  themselves  a 
mirror  in  which  nature  is  reflected  in  its  most  mi- 
nute details.  Even  so  there  is  within  me  a  mirror  in 
which  the  moral  nature,  with  its  causes  and  effects, 
is  reflected.  I  divine  the  future  and  the  past  by 
thus  penetrating  the  mind.  How?  you  will  ask  me 
again.  Let  the  marble  statue  be  the  body  of  a  man, 
let  the  sculptor  be  sentiment,  passion,  vice  or  crime, 
virtue,  sin,  or  repentance;  then  you  will  understand 
how  I  have  been  able  to  read  the  stranger's  mind, 
without,  however,  being  able  to  explain  specializa- 
tion to  you;  for,  to  understand  that  gift,  one  must 
possess  it." 

Although  Wilfrid  was  allied  to  the  first  two  branches 
of  mankind,  utterly  distinct  as  they  are,  to  the  men 
of  force  and  the  men  of  thought,  his  excesses,  his 
restless  life  and  his  errors,  had  often  led  him  in 
the  direction  of  faith;  for  doubt  has  two  sides,  the 
side  of  light  and  the  side  of  darkness.  Wilfrid  had 
pressed  the  world  too  close  in  its  two  forms,  mind 
and  matter,  not  to  suffer  from  the  thirst  for  the  un- 
known, from  the  desire  to  go  beyond,  with  which  all 
men  are  attacked  who  have  knowledge,  power,  and 
will.  But  his  knowledge,  his  acts,  his  will,  were 
without  any  guidance.  He  had  shunned  social  life 
from  necessity,  as  the  great  culprit  seeks  the  cloister. 


SERAPHITA  251 

Remorse,  that  virtue  of  the  weak,  did  not  assail 
him.  Remorse  is  a  species  of  helplessness,  it  will  sin 
again.  Repentance  alone  is  a  force,  it  puts  an  end  to 
everything.  But  Wilfrid,  while  travelling  over  the 
world  which  he  had  taken  for  his  cloister,  had  found 
balm  for  his  wounds  nowhere;  he  had  seen  nowhere 
a  nature  to  which  he  could  cling.  In  him  despair  had 
dried  up  the  springs  of  desire.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  who,  having  fallen  out  with  the  passions  and 
found  themselves  the  stronger,  have  nothing  more 
to  squeeze  in  their  gripe;  who,  in  default  of  an  op- 
portunity to  place  themselves  at  the  head  of  some 
of  their  equals  to  trample  entire  peoples  under  their 
horses'  feet,  would  purchase  at  the  price  of  a  horrible 
martyrdom  the  power  to  ruin  themselves  for  a  belief: 
sublime  cliffs,  so  to  speak,  awaiting  the  touch  of  a 
magic  wand  which  would  make  their  far-off  springs 
gush  forth  anew,  but  which  does  not  come. 

Led  by  a  scheme  of  his  restless,  inquisitive  life 
among  the  roads  of  Norway,  winter  had  surprised 
him  at  Jarvis.  On  the  day  when  he  first  saw  Sera- 
phita,  that  meeting  caused  him  to  forget  his  past  life. 
The  girl  awoke  intense  sensations  which  he  believed 
to  be  beyond  resuscitation.  The  ashes  emitted  one 
last  flame,  and  blew  away  at  the  first  sound  of  that 
voice.  Who  has  ever  experienced  the  sensation  of 
becoming  young  and  pure  once  more  after  he  had 
grown  cold  in  old  age  and  defiled  himself  in  impurity? 
Suddenly,  Wilfrid  loved  as  he  had  never  loved  before; 
he  loved  secretly,  with  intense  faith,  with  terror, 
with  secret  frenzy.  His  life  was  stirred  to  its  very 


252  SERAPHITA 

source  at  the  mere  thought  of  seeing  Seraphita. 
When  he  heard  her  voice,  he  was  transported  to 
unfamiliar  worlds;  he  was  dumb  in  her  presence, 
she  fascinated  him.  In  that  desolate  spot,  under 
the  snow,  among  the  fields  of  ice,  that  celestial 
flower  had  grown  to  maturity  upon  its  slender  stalk; 
that  flower  which  was  the  goal  of  all  his  aspiration, 
hitherto  ungratified,  and  the  sight  of  which  aroused 
the  fresh  ideas,  the  hopes,  the  feelings,  that  cluster 
about  us  to  bear  us  away  to  higher  regions,  as  the 
angels  bear  the  elect  away  to  heaven  in  the  symbolic 
pictures  suggested  to  painters  by  some  familiar  genius. 
A  divine  perfume  softened  the  granite  of  that  rock,  a 
light  endowed  with  speech  shed  upon  him  the  divine 
melodies  that  accompany  the  traveller  in  his  heaven- 
ward journey.  Having  drained  to  the  dregs  the  cup 
of  earthly  love  which  his  teeth  had  broken,  he  saw 
before  him  the  chosen  vessel  in  which  gleamed  limpid 
waves  and  which  makes  one  thirst  for  joys  that  are 
never-ending  for  him  who  can  touch  it  with  lips  suf- 
ficiently imbued  with  faith  to  avoid  shattering  the 
crystal.  He  had  found  that  wall  of  brass  to  be  sur- 
mounted which  he  had  sought  throughout  the  world. 
He  went  impulsively  to  Seraphita,  with  the  purpose 
of  describing  to  her  the  bearing  of  a  passion  beneath 
which  he  was  as  restive  as  the  horse  in  the  fable 
beneath  the  bronze  rider  whom  nothing  disturbs, 
who  sits  firmly  in  his  saddle,  and  whom  the  efforts 
of  the  fiery  beast  serve  only  to  make  more  burden- 
some and  heavier.  He  went  to  her  to  depict  the 
grandeur  of  his  soul  by  the  grandeur  of  his  errors, 


SERAPHITA  253 

to  show  her  the  ruins  of  his  desert  places;  but,  when 
he  had  passed  the  outer  walls  of  the  chateau  and 
found  himself  within  the  vast  zone  embraced  by 
those  eyes,  whose  sparkling  azure  encountered  no 
limits  to  their  vision,  he  became  as  calm  and  submis- 
sive as  the  lion  who,  as  he  rushes  upon  his  prey  in 
an  African  desert,  receives  a  love-message  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind  and  stops.  He  opened  for  him- 
self an  abyss  into  which  the  words  of  his  frenzy  fell, 
and  from  which  issued  a  voice  which  changed  his 
nature:  he  was  a  child  again,  a  child  of  sixteen, 
timid  and  fearful  before  that  girl  with  the  tranquil 
brow,  before  that  white  figure  whose  unalterable 
calmness  resembled  the  cruel  impassiveness  of  hu- 
man justice.  And  the  battle  had  never  ceased  until 
that  evening,  when  she  had  at  last  overthrown  him 
with  a  single  glance,  as  a  hawk,  after  describing  a 
series  of  bewildering  spirals  around  its  prey,  lets  it 
fall  stupefied  to  the  ground  before  carrying  it  away 
to  its  nest.  Long  conflicts  take  place  within  us, 
ending  in  one  of  our  acts,  and  forming  a  sort  of  re- 
verse side  of  man's  nature.  That  reverse  side  is 
turned  toward  God,  the  other  toward  men. 

More  than  once,  Seraphita  had  amused  herself  by 
proving  to  Wilfrid  that  she  was  acquainted  with 
that  reverse  side,  different  in  different  individuals, 
which  constitutes  a  second  life  with  most  men.  She 
had  often  said  to  him,  in  her  turtle-dove  voice: 
"  Why  all  this  anger?"  when  Wilfrid  had  registered 
a  vow  to  carry  her  away  in  order  to  make  her  his 
own  property.  Wilfrid  alone  was  strong  enough 


254  SERAPHITA 

to  utter  the  cry  of  rebellion  to  which  he  had  given 
vent  at  Monsieur  Becker's,  and  which  the  old  man's 
narrative  had  quieted.  That  mocking,  insolent  man 
saw  at  last  the  dawn  of  a  starlike  faith  breaking  upon 
his  darkness;  he  asked  himself  if  Seraphita  were 
not  an  exile  from  higher  spheres  returning  to  her 
native  country.  He  did  not  simply  decree  the  honor 
of  deification,  which  lovers  abuse  in  all  countries,  to 
this  Norwegian  lily,  he  believed  in  her.  Why  did 
she  remain  on  the  shore  of  that  fiord  ?  what  was  she 
doing  there?  Questions  that  were  left  unanswered 
abounded  in  his  mind.  Above  all,  what  would  come 
to  pass  between  them?  What  fate  had  guided  him 
thither?  To  him  Seraphita  was  the  marble  statue, 
motionless  but  light  as  a  shadow,  which  Minna  had 
seen  standing  on  the  brink  of  the  chasm:  so  Sera- 
phita stood  on  the  brink  of  every  chasm,  unmoved, 
without  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid,  without  the  slight- 
est fear  in  her  eye.  Thus  his  was  a  love  without 
hope,  but  not  devoid  of  curiosity.  From  the  moment 
that  Wilfrid  suspected  the  ethereal  nature  of  the 
sorceress  who  had  told  him  the  secret  of  her  life 
in  blissful  dreams,  he  determined  to  try  to  subdue 
her,  to  keep  her,  to  steal  her  from  heaven  where 
perhaps  her  coming  was  awaited.  He  would  repre- 
sent the  human  race,  the  earth  resuming  possession 
of  its  prey.  His  pride,  the  only  sentiment  whereby 
man  can  be  exalted  for  long,  would  make  him  happy, 
because  of  that  triumph,  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  At 
that  thought,  his  blood  boiled  in  his  veins,  his  heart 
swelled.  If  he  did  not  succeed,  he  would  tear  her 


SERAPHITA  255 

to  pieces.  It  is  so  natural  to  destroy  what  one 
cannot  possess,  to  deny  what  one  does  not  under- 
stand, to  decry  what  one  envies!  ' 

The  next  day,  Wilfrid,  his  mind  filled  by  the 
thoughts  certain  to  be  suggested  by  the  extraordi- 
nary spectacle  he  had  witnessed  the  preceding  night, 
determined  to  question  David,  and  went  to  see  him, 
on  the  pretext  of  asking  for  news  of  Seraphita. 
Although  Monsieur  Becker  believed  that  the  poor 
man  was  in  his  dotage,  the  stranger  trusted  to  his 
own  perspicacity  to  detect  the  morsels  of  truth  that 
would  be  poured  forth  by  the  old  servant  in  the 
torrent  of  his  divagations. 

David  had  the  stolid,  weak  face  of  the  octogena- 
rian: below  his  gray  hair  was  a  brow  upon  which 
the  wrinkles  formed  long  ruined  hummocks;  his 
face  was  hollowed  out  like  the  dry  bed  of  a  moun- 
tain torrent.  His  life  seemed  to  have  taken  refuge 
entirely  in  the  eyes,  wherein  a  ray  of  light  still 
gleamed;  but  that  gleam  was  veiled  by  clouds,  as  it 
were,  and  suggested  the  restless  wildness  as  well  as 
the  stupid  fixity  of  intoxication.  His  slow,  heavy 
movements  indicated  the  frosts  of  age  and  communi- 
cated them  to  anyone  who  looked  steadfastly  at  him 
for  a  long  while,  for  he  possessed  the  force  of  torpor. 
His  limited  intelligence  awoke  only  at  the  sound 
of  his  mistress's  voice,  or  at  the  sight  or  thought  of 
her.  She  was  the  soul  of  that  wholly  material  frag- 
ment. Seeing  David  alone,  you  would  have  said 
that  he  was  a  corpse:  but  if  Seraphita  appeared  or 
spoke  or  were  mentioned — then  the  dead  came  forth 


256  SERAPHITA 

from  his  tomb,  he  recovered  motion  and  speech. 
Never  was  the  apocalyptic  image  of  the  dried  bones 
restored  to  life  in  the  valley  of  Jehosaphat  more  fully 
realized  than  by  that  Lazarus  constantly  recalled  to 
life  from  the  grave  by  the  girl's  voice.  His  language, 
always  figurative,  often  incomprehensible,  prevented 
the  natives  from  talking  with  him;  but  they  felt  the 
instinctive  reverence  of  the  common  people  for  one 
who  had  wandered  so  far  from  the  beaten  track. 

Wilfrid  found  him  in  the  outer  room,  apparently 
asleep  by  the  stove.  Like  a  dog  who  knows  the 
friends  of  the  family,  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes, 
recognized  the  stranger,  and  did  not  stir. 

"Well,  where  is  she?"  Wilfrid  inquired,  taking  a 
seat  beside  the  old  man. 

David  moved  his  fingers  in  the  air,  as  if  to  de- 
scribe the  flight  of  a  bird. 

"  Is  her  suffering  at  an  end?"  asked  Wilfrid. 

"  Only  those  creatures  who  are  promised  to  heaven 
know  how  to  suffer  without  their  love  being  dimin- 
ished by  suffering;  that  is  the  sign  of  true  faith,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  gravely,  as  a  musical  instrument 
gives  forth  a  note  when  touched  at  random. 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"The  Spirit." 

"What  happened  to  her  last  night?  Did  you 
force  your  way  by  the  Vertumnuses  who  acted  as 
sentries?  did  you  glide  in  among  the  Mammons?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  David,  as  if  waking  from  a  dream. 

The  confused  vapor  of  his  eyes  melted  away 
before  a  ray  of  light  that  came  from  his  mind  and 


SERAPHITA  257 

gradually  made  them  as  bright  as  an  eagle's,  as 
intelligent  as  a  poet's. 

"  What  did  you  see?"  queried  Wilfrid,  amazed  by 
that  sudden  transformation. 

"  I  saw  Species  and  Forms,  I  heard  the  Spirit  of 
Things,  I  saw  the  rebellion  of  the  Bad,  I  listened  to 
the  speech  of  the  Good  !  There  were  seven  demons 
and  seven  archangels  come  down  from  heaven. 
The  archangels  were  at  a  distance,  they  looked  on 
with  veils  over  their  faces.  The  demons  were  near 
at  hand,  they  were  brilliantly  arrayed  and  active. 
Mammon  came  on  his  mother-of-pearl  shell,  in  the 
shape  of  a  lovely  nude  woman;  his  body  was  daz- 
zling in  its  snowy  whiteness,  no  human  form  will 
ever  be  so  perfect,  and  he  said:  '  I  am  Pleasure,  and 
thou  shalt  possess  me!' — Lucifer,  the  prince  of  ser- 
pents, came  in  his  regal  garb,  the  man  in  him  was 
as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  he  said:  'Mankind  shall 
wait  upon  thee!'  The  queen  of  misers,  she  who 
never  gives  up  anything  she  has  received,  the  Sea, 
arrived,  wrapped  in  her  green  cloak;  she  bared  her 
bosom,  she  showed  her  casket  of  precious  stones, 
she  vomited  forth  her  treasures  and  offered  them; 
she  summoned  waves  of  sapphires  and  emeralds; 
her  products  bestirred  themselves,  they  came  forth 
from  their  hiding-places,  they  spoke;  the  fairest 
among  the  pearls  unfolded  her  butterfly  wings,  gave 
forth  a  bright  light,  and  sang  her  music  of  the  sea; 
she  said:  '  Daughters  of  suffering  both,  we  are 
sisters;  wait  for  me!  we  will  go  together,  I  have  but 
to  become  a  woman.'  The  bird  with  the  wings  of 
17 


258  SERAPHITA 

the  eagle  and  the  claws  of  the  lion,  a  woman's  head, 
and  the  rump  of  a  horse,  the  Animal,  stooped  and 
licked  her  feet,  promising  seven  hundred  years  of 
abundance  to  his  beloved  daughter.  The  most  to  be 
feared  of  all,  the  Child,  crawled  to  her  knees,  weep- 
ing and  saying  to  her:  '  Wilt  thou  leave  me,  weak 
and  ill  as  I  am?  stay  with  me,  mother!'  He  played 
with  the  others,  he  diffused  sloth  through  the  air, 
and  heaven  itself  would  have  listened  to  his  lament. 
The  sweet-voiced  Virgin  warbled  her  melodies  that 
relax  the  soul.  The  kings  of  the  East  came  with 
their  slaves,  their  armies,  and  their  wives;  the 
Wounded  appealed  to  her  for  help,  the  Unfortunate 
held  out  their  hands  to  her:  '  Do  not  leave  us!  do  not 
leave  us!'  Even  I  myself  cried:  'Do  not  leave  us! 
we  adore  you,  stay!'  The  flowers  came  forth  from 
their  seeds,  surrounding  her  with  their  perfumes, 
which  said:  'Stay!'  The  giant  Enakim  came  from 
Jupiter,  bringing  Gold  and  his  friends,  bringing  the 
spirits  from  the  astral  worlds  that  are  connected  with 
him,  and  one  and  all  said  to  her:  '  We  will  be  thine 
for  seven  hundred  years.'  Lastly,  Death  alighted 
from  his  white  horse,  and  said:  'I  will  obey  thee!' 
They  all  prostrated  themselves  at  her  feet,  and  if 
you  could  have  seen  them!  they  filled  the  vast  plain, 
and  all  cried  out  to  her:  '  We  reared  thee;  thou  art 
our  child,  do  not  desert  us!' — Life  came  forth  from 
its  red  waters,  and  said:  '  I  will  never  leave  thee!' 
And  then,  as  Seraphita  remained  silent,  it  gleamed 
like  the  sun,  crying:  '  I  am  the  light!' — 'The  light  is 
there!'  cried  Seraphita,  pointing  to  the  clouds  where 


SERAPHITA  259 

the  archangels  were  waving  their  arms;  but  she  was 
tired,  Desire  had  shattered  her  nerves,  she  could 
only  cry:  '  O  my  God!' — How  many  angelic  spirits, 
as  they  climbed  the  mountain  and  were  almost  at  the 
summit,  have  trodden  upon  a  pebble  which  threw 
them  down  and  hurled  them  back  into  the  abyss! 
All  those  fallen  spirits  admired  her  steadfastness; 
they  stood  there,  a  motionless  chorus,  and  one  and 
all,  weeping,  said  to  her:  '  Have  courage!'  At  last, 
she  conquered  the  Desire  by  which  she  had  been 
beset  in  all  shapes  and  in  every  guise.  She  knelt 
in  prayer,  and  when  she  raised  her  eyes,  she  saw 
the  feet  of  the  angels  flying  back  to  heaven." 

"  She  saw  the  feet  of  the  angels?"  repeated  Wil- 
frid. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Has  she  been  describing  a  dream  to  you?" 

"A  dream  as  real  as  the  dream  of  your  life,"  re- 
plied David;  "  I  was  there." 

The  old  servant's  calm  manner  impressed  Wilfrid, 
who  went  away  wondering  if  such  visions  were  less 
extraordinary  than  those  described  in  the  writings  of 
Swedenborg,  which  he  had  read  the  night  before. 

"If  spirits  really  exist,  they  must  act,"  he  said 
to  himself,  entering  the  parsonage,  where  he  found 
Monsieur  Becker  alone. 

"  Dear  pastor,"  said  Wilfrid,  "  Seraphita  is  allied 
to  us  only  in  form,  and  her  form  is  impenetrable. 
Do  not  look  upon  me  as  a  lunatic  or  a  man  in  love: 
it  is  of  no  use  to  discuss  a  conviction.  Transform 
my  faith  and  scientific  conjectures,  and  let  us  seek 


260  SERAPH1TA 

enlightenment.  To-morrow  we  will  both  call  upon 
her." 

"  Well?"  said  Monsieur  Becker. 

"  If  her  eye  knows  nothing  of  space,"  continued 
Wilfrid,  "if  her  thought  is  a  faculty  of  intelligent 
insight  which  enables  her  to  embrace  all  things  in 
their  essence  and  to  connect  them  with  the  general 
evolution  of  worlds;  if,  in  a  word,  she  knows  and 
sees  everything,  let  us  seat  the  pythoness  upon  her 
tripod,  let  us  compel  that  inexorable  eagle  to  unfold 
her  wings  by  threatening  her!  Assist  me!  I  am 
breathing  a  fire  which  consumes  me,  I  am  determined 
either  to  extinguish  it  or  to  allow  myself  to  be  con- 
sumed. In  short,  I  have  discovered  a  victim,  I  pro- 
pose to  have  her." 

"  It  would  be  a  very  difficult  conquest  to  accom- 
plish," said  the  minister,  "for  the  poor  girl  is — " 

"Is?"  queried  Wilfrid. 

"  Mad,"  said  the  minister. 

"  I  do  not  deny  her  madness,  do  not  you  deny  her 
superiority.  Dear  Monsieur  Becker,  she  has  often 
confounded  me  by  her  erudition.  Has  she  trav- 
elled?" 

"  From  her  house  to  the  fiord." 

"  She  has  not  been  away  from  the  place!"  cried 
Wilfrid;  "then  she  must  have  read  a  great  deal?" 

"  Not  a  leaf,  not  a  word  !  I  am  the  only  person  in 
Jarvis  who  has  books.  The  works  of  Swedenborg, 
the  only  books  in  the  village,  are  here.  She  has 
never  borrowed  one  of  them." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  talk  with  her?" 


SERAPHITA  26l 

"  What  would  be  the  use?" 

"  Has  no  one  ever  lived  under  her  roof?" 

"  She  has  had  no  other  friends  than  you  and 
Minna,  no  other  servant  than  David." 

"  Has  she  never  heard  of  the  sciences,  the  arts?" 

"  From  whom?"  queried  the  pastor. 

"  If  she  talks  intelligently  of  all  these  things,  as  she 
has  often  talked  with  me,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  That  the  child  has  perhaps  acquired,  during  sev- 
eral years  of  silence,  the  faculties  enjoyed  by  Apol- 
lonius  of  Tyana  and  many  alleged  sorcerers  who 
were  burned  by  the  Inquisition,  as  it  refused  to 
admit  the  existence  of  second-sight." 

"  If  she  can  talk  Arabic,  what  would  you  think?" 

"  The  history  of  medical  science  records  several 
instances  of  girls  who  have  spoken  languages  un- 
known to  them." 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  said  Wilfrid.  "  She  knows 
things  in  my  past,  the  secret  of  which  was  known 
to  myself  alone." 

"  We  shall  see  if  she  can  tell  me  certain  thoughts 
which  I  have  not  whispered  to  anyone,"  said  the 
pastor. 

Minna  entered  the  room. 

"Well,  my  child,  what  has  become  of  your  de- 
mon?" 

"He  is  suffering,  father,"  she  replied,  nodding 
to  Wilfrid.  "  Human  passions,  clad  in  their  false 
splendor,  encompassed  him  during  the  night  and 
dazzled  him  with  the  incredible  magnificence  of  their 
display.  But  you  treat  such  things  as  fables." 


262  SERAPHITA 

"  Fables  as  fascinating  to  him  who  reads  them  in 
his  brain  as  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights  to  the 
ordinary  mind,"  said  the  pastor,  smiling. 

"Did  not  Satan,"  she  continued,  "carry  the 
Saviour  to  the  summit  of  the  Temple  and  show  him 
the  nations  at  his  feet?" 

"  The  evangelists,"  replied  the  pastor,  "  did  not 
correct  their  proofs  so  well  that  there  are  not  several 
versions  of  the  incident  in  existence." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  the  reality  of  these  visions?" 
Wilfrid  asked  Minna. 

"  Who  can  doubt  when  he  describes  them?" 

"He?"  queried  Wilfrid.     "  Who?" 

"  He  who  is  over  yonder,"  Minna  replied,  pointing 
to  the  chateau. 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Seraphita?"  said  the  stran- 
ger in  amazement. 

The  girl  hung  her  head,  casting  a  mildly  mis- 
chievous glance  at  him. 

"  So  you  also  take  pleasure  in  confusing  my  ideas," 
said  Wilfrid.  "Who  is  she?  what  do  you  think  of 
her?" 

"What  I  feel  is  inexplicable,"  replied  Minna, 
blushing. 

"You  are  both  mad!"  cried  the  pastor. 

"Until  to-morrow!"  said  Wilfrid. 


IV 


THE  CLOUDS  OF  THE  SANCTUARY 

There  are  spectacles  in  which  all  the  material 
splendors  which  man  has  at  his  disposal  co-operate. 
Nations  of  slaves  and  divers  have  sought  in  the  sands 
of  the  sea,  in  the  bowels  of  high  cliffs,  the  pearls  and 
diamonds  which  adorn  the  audience.  Handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation,  those  splendors  have 
gleamed  upon  all  crowned  heads  in  succession,  and 
could  tell  the  most  truthful  of  histories  if  they  could 
speak.  Do  they  not  know  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
the  great  as  well  as  the  small?  They  hive  been 
worn  everywhere:  they  have  been  worn  with  pride 
at  high  festivals,  carried  in  despair  to  the  money- 
lender, carried  away  in  blood  and  pillage,  trans- 
ported into  the  masterpieces  produced  by  art  in  order 
to  immortalize  them.  Save  Cleopatra's  pearl,  not 
one  of  them  has  ever  been  lost.  The  great  and 
the  fortunate  are  assembled  to  witness  the  corona- 
tion of  a  king,  whose  robes  are  the  product  of  man's 
industry,  but  who  in  all  his  glory  is  clad  in  a  pur- 
ple less  perfect  than  that  of  a  humble  wild-flower. 
These  festivals,  gorgeous  with  light,  girt  about  with 
(263) 


264  SERAPHITA 

music,  where  man's  voice  strives  to  drown  the  up- 
roar,— all  these  triumphs  of  his  hand  are  made  as 
naught  by  a  thought,  a  sentiment.  The  mind  can 
assemble  around  man  and  in  man  more  brilliant 
lights,  can  assail  his  ears  with  more  melodious 
strains,  can  seat  him  upon  the  clouds  of  gleaming 
constellations  which  he  questions:  the  heart  can  do 
even  more!  Man  may  meet  face  to  face  a  single 
creature  and  find  in  a  single  word,  in  a  single  glance, 
a  burden  so  heavy  to  bear,  a  light  so  dazzling,  a 
sound  so  penetrating,  that  he  gives  way  and  kneels. 
The  most  real  splendors  are  not  in  things,  they  are 
in  ourselves.  To  the  scholar  a  secret  of  science  is  a 
whole  world  of  wonders.  But  is  his  festival  accom- 
panied by  the  trumpets  of  power,  the  parade  of 
wealth,  the  music  of  joy,  and  an  immense  concourse 
of  men?  No;  he  goes  to  some  dark  corner,  where 
frequently  a  pale  and  sickly  man  whispers  a  single 
word  in  his  ear.  That  word,  like  a  torch  thrown 
into  an  underground  passage,  illumines  the  sciences 
for  him.  All  human  ideas,  dressed  in  the  most 
alluring  forms  mystery  has  invented,  surrounded  a 
blind  man  seated  in  the  filth  by  a  roadside.  The 
three  worlds, — the  natural,  the  spiritual,  and  the 
divine, — with  all  their  divisions,  made  themselves 
manifest  to  a  poor  Florentine  exile:  wherever  he 
went,  he  was  attended  by  the  happy  and  the  suffer- 
ing, by  those  who  prayed  and  those  who  wept,  by 
angels  and  by  the  damned.  When  the  messenger  of 
God,  omniscient  and  omnipotent,  appeared  to  three 
of  his  disciples,  it  was  at  the  common  table  of  the 


SERAPHITA  265 

meanest  of  taverns,  on  a  certain  evening;  at  that 
moment,  the  light  burst  forth,  blurred  all  material 
outlines,  illumined  the  spiritual  faculties;  they  beheld 
him  in  all  his  glory,  and  already  the  earth  had  no 
more  hold  upon  their  feet  than  a  loosened  sandal. 
Monsieur  Becker,  Wilfrid,  and  Minna  were  con- 
scious of  a  feeling  of  dread  as  they  walked  toward 
the  abode  of  the  extraordinary  being  whom  they  had 
agreed  to  interrogate.  In  the  eyes  of  each  of  them, 
the  Swedish  chateau,  increased  in  size  by  their 
imaginations,  resembled  a  gigantean  spectacle,  like 
those  in  which  the  materials  and  colors  are  so 
cunningly,  so  harmoniously  arranged  by  poets,  and 
the  characters,  imaginary  personages  in  the  eyes  of 
ordinary  mortals,  are  real  to  those  who  are  begin- 
ning to  acquire  an  insight  into  the  spiritual  world. 
On  the  benches  of  that  coliseum,  Monsieur  Becker 
placed  the  gray  legions  of  doubt,  its  gloomy  ideas, 
its  vicious  formulas  for  disputation;  he  summoned 
thither  the  different  philosophical  and  religious  worlds 
which  are  at  odds  with  one  another,  and  all  of  which 
appear  in  the  guise  of  a  gaunt  and  fleshless  system, 
as  Time  is  represented  by  man, — an  old  man  who 
holds  the  scythe  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  carries 
a  weak  and  fragile  world,  the  human  world.  Wilfrid 
summoned  thither  his  earliest  illusions  and  his  latest 
hopes;  he  installed  there  human  destiny  and  its  con- 
flicts, religion  and  its  triumphant  domination.  Minna 
had  an  indistinct  vision  of  heaven  through  a  cleft, 
love  raised  for  her  a  curtain  adorned  with  mysteri- 
ous images,  and  the  melodious  strains  that  reached 


266  SERAPHITA 

her  ears  redoubled  her  curiosity.  Thus,  to  these 
three,  that  evening  was  what  the  supper  was  to 
the  three  pilgrims  in  Emmaus,  what  a  vision  was 
to  Dante,  an  inspiration  to  Homer;  to  them  the  three 
forms  of  the  world  were  revealed,  veils  torn  away, 
uncertainties  banished,  dark  places  made  light. 
Humanity  in  all  its  phases,  awaiting  the  light,  could 
have  been  no  more  fully  represented  than  by  that 
maiden,  that  young  man,  and  those  two  old  men, 
one  of  whom  was  learned  enough  to  doubt,  the  other 
ignorant  enough  to  believe.  Never  was  any  scene 
more  simple  in  appearance,  more  far-reaching  in 
reality. 

When  they  entered,  ushered  in  by  old  David,  they 
found  Seraphita  standing  by  the  table,  upon  which 
were  the  different  articles  composing  "a  tea,"  a 
refection  which,  in  the  North,  takes  the  place  of  the 
joys  of  wine,  more  appropriate  to  southern  countries. 
Certainly  nothing  in  his,  or  her,  appearance  denoted 
a  being  who  possessed  the  strange  power  to  appear 
in  two  distinct  shapes,  nor  was  there  anything  to 
indicate  the  various  powers  which  she  had  at  her 
disposal.  Giving  her  attention  in  the  most  conven- 
tional way  to  the  comfort  of  her  guests,  she  ordered 
David  to  put  wood  in  the  stove. 

"  Good-evening,  neighbors,"  she  said. — "  My  dear 
Monsieur  Becker,  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  come; 
you  see  me  really  alive  for  the  first  time,  perhaps. 
This  winter  has  killed  me. — Pray  be  seated,  mon- 
sieur," she  said  to  Wilfrid. — "And  do  you,  Minna, 
sit  there,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  an  easy-chair 


SERAPHITA  267 

beside  the  young  man.  "I  see  you  have  brought 
your  embroidery;  have  you  learned  the  stitch?  The 
pattern  is  very  pretty.  For  whom  is  it?  your  father 
or  monsieur?"  she  said,  turning  to  Wilfrid.  "Shall 
we  not  give  him,  before  he  goes,  a  souvenir  of  the 
girls  of  Norway?" 

"  Were  you  ill  again  yesterday?"  Wilfrid  asked. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  enjoy  the 
suffering;  it  is  necessary  before  one  can  leave  life 
behind." 

"  Then  the  thought  of  death  does  not  terrify 
you?"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  with  a  smile,  for  he  did 
not  believe  that  she  was  ill. 

"  No,  dear  pastor.  There  are  two  ways  of  dying: 
to  some,  death  is  a  victory;  to  others,  a  defeat." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  have  won  the  victory?" 
asked  Minna. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied;  "  perhaps  it  will 
be  only  a  step  further." 

The  milk-white  splendor  of  her  forehead  darkened, 
her  eyes  vanished  behind  the  slowly  drooping  lids. 
The  movement,  simple  as  it  was,  touched  and  awed 
the  three  curious  guests.  Monsieur  Becker  was  the 
boldest. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "you  are  innocence 
itself;  but  you  are  also  endowed  with  divine  kindli- 
ness; I  would  ask  of  you  this  evening  something 
more  than  the  delicacies  of  your  tea-table.  If  we  are 
to  believe  certain  persons,  you  know  some  extraor- 
dinary things;  now,  if  that  be  so,  would  it  not  be 
charitable  in  you  to  dissolve  some  of  our  doubts?" 


268  SERAPHITA 

"Ah!"  she  rejoined,  with  a  smile,  "I  walk  upon 
the  clouds,  I  am  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  preci- 
pices along  the  fiord,  the  sea  is  a  steed  which  I  have 
broken  to  harness,  I  know  where  the  flower  grows 
that  sings,  where  the  light  shines  that  speaks,  where 
the  flowers  live  and  bloom  that  perfume  the  air;  I 
have  Solomon's  ring,  I  am  a  fairy;  I  toss  my  com- 
mands to  the  wind,  which  executes  them  like  a 
humble  slave;  I  discover  treasures  underground; 
I  am  the  virgin  whom  the  pearls  fly  to  meet, 
and—" 

"And  we  climb  the  Falberg  without  danger,"  said 
Minna,  interrupting  her. 

"And  you,  too!"  replied  the  strange  being,  with 
a  piercing  glance  at  the  girl,  which  filled  her  heart 
with  vague  anxiety. — "If  I  had  not  the  power  to 
read  behind  your  brows  the  desire  that  brings  you 
here,  should  I  be  what  you  believe  me  to  be?"  she 
said,  enveloping  them  all  three  in  her  all-pervading 
glance,  to  the  intense  satisfaction  of  David,  who 
rubbed  his  hands  as  he  went  from  the  room. — "Ah!" 
she  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  you  are  all  impelled 
by  a  childlike  curiosity.  You  asked  yourself,  my 
poor  Monsieur  Becker,  if  it  were  possible  for  a  girl 
of  seventeen  to  know  one  of  the  numberless  secrets 
which  scientists  seek  to  discover,  with  their  noses  to 
the  ground,  instead  of  raising  their  eyes  to  heaven! 
If  I  should  tell  you  how  and  by  what  the  plant  is 
connected  with  the  animal,  you  would  begin  to  doubt 
your  own  doubts.  You  have  formed  a  plot  to  question 
me,  have  you  not?" 


SERAPH1TA  269 

"Yes,  dear  Seraphita,"  replied  Wilfrid;  "  but  is  it 
not  a  natural  desire  for  men  to  feel?" 

"Do  you  want  to  weary  this  child,  pray?"  she 
said,  laying  her  hand  caressingly  on  Minna's  hair. 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes,  and  seemed  to  long  to 
blend  her  whole  being  with  Seraphita's. 

"Speech  is  the  gift  of  all  mankind,"  said  the 
mysterious  creature,  gravely.  "  Woe  to  him  who 
should  remain  silent  in  the  midst  of  the  desert, 
thinking  that  no  one  could  hear  him:  everything 
speaks  and  everything  listens  here  below.  Speech 
moves  worlds.  I  wish,  Monsieur  Becker,  to  say 
nothing  in  vain.  I  know  the  difficulties  which  most 
engross  your  thoughts:  would  it  not  be  a  miracle  to 
begin  by  describing  the  whole  past  of  your  con- 
science? Be  it  so;  the  miracle  is  about  to  be  per- 
formed. Listen.  You  have  never  acknowledged 
your  doubts  in  their  full  extent;  I  alone,  steadfast  in 
my  faith,  can  describe  them  to  you  and  make  you 
afraid  of  yourself.  You  are  on  the  darkest  side  of 
doubt;  you  do  not  believe  in  God,  and  everything  on 
this  earth  becomes  of  secondary  importance  to  him 
who  attacks  the  foundation  of  things.  Let  us 
abandon  the  fruitless  discussions  inaugurated  by 
false  systems  of  philosophy.  The  spiritualistic  gen- 
erations have  made  no  less  vain  efforts  to  deny 
matter  than  the  materialistic  generations  have  made 
to  deny  the  spirit.  Why  these  disputes?  Does  not 
man  offer  irrefutable  proofs  of  both  systems?  are 
not  things  material  and  things  spiritual  blended  in 
him?  Only  an  idiot  can  refuse  to  see  a  fragment  of 


2/0  SERAPHITA 

matter  in  the  human  body;  upon  analyzing  it,  your 
natural  sciences  find  few  differences  between  its 
organism  and  that  of  other  animals.  The  idea  to 
which  the  comparison  of  several  objects  gives  birth 
in  man  no  longer  seems  to  anyone  to  be  within  the 
domain  of  matter.  I  am  not  now  giving  my  own 
views — your  doubts,  not  my  certainties,  are  my  sub- 
ject. To  you,  as  to  most  thinkers,  the  relations 
that  you  are  enabled  to  discover  between  objects 
whose  reality  is  attested  by  your  sensations  do  not 
seem  to  you  to  be  material. 

"  Thus  the  natural  world  of  things  and  persons  is 
bounded  in  man  by  the  supernatural  world  of  the 
similarities  or  distinctions  which  he  detects  between 
the  innumerable  shapes  of  nature — relations  so  mul- 
tiplied that  they  seem  to  be  infinite;  for  if  no  man 
hitherto  has  been  able  even  to  enumerate  terrestrial 
creations,  who  could  enumerate  their  interrelations? 
Is  not  the  small  fraction  of  them  with  which  you  are 
acquainted  to  their  sum  total  as  a  finite  number  is  to 
infinity?  At  that  point,  you  already  obtain  a  glimpse 
of  the  infinite,  which  must  surely  enable  you  to  con- 
ceive a  purely  spiritual  world.  Thus  mankind  pre- 
sents a  sufficient  proof  of  the  two  forms,  matter  and 
spirit.  In  man,  a  visible,  finite  world  attains  com- 
pletion; in  him,  an  invisible,  infinite  world  begins, — 
two  worlds  that  do  not  know  each  other:  have  the 
stones  in  the  fiord  any  knowledge  of  their  combina- 
tions, of  the  colors  they  present  to  man's  eyes?  do 
they  hear  the  music  of  the  waves  that  caress  them? 
Let  us  cross,  without  measuring  its  depth,  the  abyss 


SERAPHITA  271 

presented  by  the  union  of  a  material  universe  and 
a  spiritual  universe,  a  visible,  substantial,  tangible 
creation,  bounded  by  an  invisible,  unsubstantial,  in- 
tangible creation;  utterly  unlike,  separated  by  the 
great  void,  united  by  undeniable  bonds  of  sympathy, 
and  found  in  conjunction  in  a  being  who  partakes 
of  the  nature  of  both!  Let  us  blend  together  in  a 
single  world  these  two  worlds  which  your  philosoph- 
ical systems  cannot  reconcile,  but  which  are  recon- 
ciled by  the  fact.  However  abstract  man  may  deem 
it  to  be,  a  relation  between  two  things  necessarily 
implies  a  stamp.  Where?  upon  what?  We  have 
not  reached  the  point  of  inquiry  as  to  how  far  matter 
may  be  refined.  If  such  were  the  question,  I  do  not 
see  why  He  who,  to  make  a  veil  for  Himself,  bound 
together  by  physical  resemblances  the  stars  that  lie 
immeasurably  distant  from  one  another,  could  not 
have  created  thinking  substances,  nor  why  you 
should  deny  Him  the  power  to  give  a  body  to 
thought! 

"  Thus  your  invisible  moral  universe  and  your 
visible  physical  universe  constitute  one  single  body. 
We  do  not  separate  bodies  and  their  properties,  nor 
objects  and  their  relations.  Whatever  exists,  what- 
ever presses  upon  us  and  overwhelms  us,  above, 
below,  before,  or  within  us,  whatever  our  eyes 
and  our  minds  perceive, — all  those  things,  named 
and  unnamed,  constitute,  in  order  that  the  problem 
of  the  creation  may  be  adapted  to  the  measure  of 
your  logic,  a  finite  mass  of  matter;  if  it  were  infinite, 
God  would  no  longer  be  the  master.  According  to 


272  SERAPHITA 

your  view,  dear  pastor,  however  one  may  seek  to 
reconcile  an  infinite  God  with  that  finite  mass  of 
matter,  God  could  not  exist  with  the  attributes  with 
which  He  is  invested  by  man;  if  you  seek  Him  in 
facts,  He  is  of  no  consequence;  if  you  seek  Him 
in  the  reason,  He  will  still  be  of  no  consequence; 
spiritually  and  materially,  God  becomes  impossible. 
Let  us  listen  to  the  words  of  human  wisdom  carried 
to  their  final  consequences. 

"  When  we  bring  God  face  to  face  with  this  great 
whole,  there  are  but  two  possible  methods  of  viewing 
their  relations  to  each  other.  Either  God  and  matter 
are  contemporaneous,  or  God  alone  existed  before 
matter.  Assuming  all  the  knowledge  that  has  en- 
lightened the  human  race  since  it  came  upon  the 
earth  to  be  collected  in  a  single  brain,  even  that 
gigantic  brain  could  not  conceive  a  third  relationship 
unless  by  suppressing  both  God  and  matter.  Let 
human  philosophy  pile  up  mountains  of  words  and 
ideas,  let  religions  accumulate  images  and  creeds, 
revelations  and  mysteries,  they  must  come  at  last 
to  this  terrible  dilemma  and  choose  between  the 
two  propositions  of  which  it  is  composed;  but  you 
have  not  to  choose:  both  alike  lead  the  human 
mind  to  doubt.  The  problem  being  thus  stated,  of 
what  account  are  spirit  and  matter?  what  matters 
the  progress  of  the  two  worlds  in  one  direction  or 
the  other,  from  the  moment  that  the  being  who 
guides  them  is  convicted  of  absurdity?  What  prof- 
its it  to  inquire  whether  man  is  advancing  toward 
heaven  or  receding  from  it,  whether  creation  is 


SERAPHITA  273 

ascending  toward  the  spirit  or  descending  toward 
matter,  when  the  worlds  that  we  question  make 
no  reply?  What  do  theogonies  and  their  armies 
signify,  or  theologies  and  their  dogmas,  when,  no 
matter  which  of  the  two  aspects  of  the  problem 
man  may  choose,  his  God  is  no  more?  Let  us 
glance  at  the  first  hypothesis,  let  us  suppose  God 
to  be  contemporaneous  with  matter.  Is  nothing 
more  necessary  to  be  God  than  to  submit  to  the 
action  or  the  coexistence  of  a  substance  foreign  to 
its  own  ?  In  such  a  system  does  not  God  become  a 
mere  secondary  agent,  compelled  to  organize  matter? 
Who  compelled  Him?  Who  was  the  arbiter  between 
His  vulgar  companion  and  Himself?  Who  paid  that 
Great  Artist  his  wages  for  the  six  days'  labor  attrib- 
uted to  Him?  If  there  should  be  discovered  some 
decisive  force  which  was  neither  God  nor  matter, 
seeing  that  God  is  required  to  manufacture  the  ma- 
chinery that  moves  the  world,  it  would  be  as  absurd 
to  call  that  force  God  as  to  call  the  humble  slave 
sent  to  turn  a  grindstone  a  Roman  citizen. 

"  Moreover,  we  encounter  a  difficulty  as  insoluble 
to  that  supreme  intellect  as  it  is  to  God.  To  go  back 
a  little  further,  are  we  not  like  the  Hindoos,  who 
place  the  world  on  a  tortoise  and  the  tortoise  on  an 
elephant,  but  cannot  tell  us  what  the  elephant's  feet 
rest  upon?  Can  that  supreme  will,  resulting  from 
the  combat  between  God  and  matter,  can  that  God 
greater  than  God  have  bided  an  eternity  without  de- 
creeing what  He  at  last  decreed,  assuming  that  eter- 
nity can  be  divided  into  two  periods?  No  matter 
18 


2/4  SERAPHITA 

where  God  may  be,  if  He  did  not  know  what  His 
subsequent  thought  would  be,  is  not  His  intuitive 
intelligence  an  impossibility?  Which  of  these  two 
eternities,  then,  will  triumph?  will  it  be  the  un- 
created eternity,  or  the  created  eternity?  If  He 
decreed  that  the  world  should  be  for  all  time  as  it 
is,  that  fresh  necessity,  which  is  quite  in  harmony 
with  the  conception  of  a  sovereign  intelligence,  im- 
plies the  coeternity  of  matter.  Whether  matter  be 
coeternal  by  virtue  of  a  divine  power  necessarily  the 
same  at  all  times,  or  whether  it  be  coeternal  in  itself, 
the  power  of  God,  since  it  must  be  absolute,  dies 
with  His  free  will;  it  would  find  always  in  Him  a 
convincing  force  of  reasoning  that  would  dominate 
it.  Is  nothing  more  necessary  to  be  God  than  to  be 
no  better  able  to  differentiate  one's  self  from  one's 
creation  in  a  subsequent  than  in  an  antecedent 
eternity?  Is  that  aspect  of  the  problem  insoluble 
as  to  its  cause?  Let  us  examine  it  in  its  effects. 
"If  it  is  impossible  to  understand  God  as  being 
forced  to  make  the  world  for  all  eternity,  it  is  quite 
as  impossible  to  understand  Him  in  His  perpetual  co- 
hesion with  His  work.  God,  compelled  to  live  forever 
with  His  creation,  is  quite  as  degraded  as  in  His  first 
state  of  workman.  Can  you  imagine  a  God  who  can 
no  more  be  independent  of  His  work  than  dependent 
upon  it?  Can  He  destroy  it  without  casting  reproach 
upon  Himself?  Consider,  choose.  If  He  does  destroy 
it  some  day,  if  He  never  destroys  it,  either  horn  of 
the  dilemma  is  fatal  to  the  attributes  without  which 
He  could  not  exist.  Is  the  world  an  experiment,  a 


SERAPHITA  275 

perishable  shadow  which  will  some  day  be  destroyed? 
In  that  case,  would  not  God  be  inconsistent  and  im- 
potent? Inconsistent:  for  must  He  not  have  known 
the  result  before  making  the  experiment,  and  why 
does  He  delay  to  crush  what  He  is  determined  to 
crush?  Impotent:  for  would  He  have  created  an 
imperfect  world?  If  an  imperfect  creation  negatives 
God's  possession  of  the  faculties  mankind  attributes 
to  Him,  let  us  return  to  the  question:  assume  the 
creation  to  be  perfect.  The  idea  is  in  harmony  with 
that  of  a  God  of  sovereign  intelligence  who  cannot 
have  erred  in  anything;  but  in  that  case  why  the 
degradation  ?  why  the  regeneration  ? 

"Again,  the  perfect  world  is  necessarily  inde- 
structible, it  can  never  perish;  the  world  neither 
goes  forward  nor  recedes,  it  revolves  in  an  eternal 
circle  from  which  it  will  never  deviate.  Therefore 
God  will  be  dependent  on  His  work;  therefore  it 
is  coeternal  with  Him;  which  brings  us  back  to  one 
of  the  propositions  which  attack  the  idea  of  God 
with  the  greatest  force.  Imperfect,  the  world  may  be 
supposed  to  advance,  to  improve;  but,  if  perfect,  it  is 
stationary.  If  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  progres- 
sive God,  who  does  not  know  the  history  of  His 
creation  for  all  time  to  come,  is  there  a  stationary 
God?  is  not  that  the  triumph  of  matter?  is  it  not 
the  most  momentous  of  all  negations?  In  the  first 
hypothesis,  God  perishes  through  weakness;  in  the 
second,  He  perishes  through  the  vis  inertice.  Thus, 
in  the  conception  as  well  as  in  the  construction  of 
worlds,  to  every  straightforward  mind  the  assumption 


276  SERAPHITA 

that  matter  is  contemporaneous  with  God  is  equiv- 
alent to  a  denial  of  God.  Compelled  to  choose 
between  the  two  branches  of  this  problem  in  con- 
nection with  the  government  of  peoples,  whole  gen- 
erations of  great  thinkers  have  chosen  this.  Hence 
the  dogma  of  the  two  tenets  of  Magianism,  which 
passed  from  Asia  into  Europe  in  the  form  of  Satan 
contending  with  the  Eternal  Father.  But  do  not 
that  religious  formula  and  the  innumerable  deifica- 
tions that  owe  their  origin  to  it  constitute  the  crime 
of  divine  'lese-majeste  ?  By  what  other  name  can 
we  call  the  belief  that  puts  forward  as  a  rival  to 
God  the  personification  of  Evil  struggling  forever  be- 
hind the  efforts  of  His  omnipotent  intelligence,  with 
no  possibility  of  triumph?  Your  statics  tells  you  that 
two  forces  in  that  relative  position  neutralize  each 
other. 

''Will  you  turn  to  the  second  branch  of  the  prob- 
lem? God  first  existed,  absolutely  alone. 

"Let  us  not  repeat  the  foregoing  arguments, 
which  recur  in  all  their  force  in  connection  with  the 
division  of  eternity  into  two  periods,  uncreated  time 
and  created  time.  Let  us  also  lay  aside  the  questions 
suggested  by  the  progress  or  immobility  of  worlds; 
let  us  be  content  with  the  difficulties  inherent  in  this 
second  theme.  If  God  existed  first,  alone,  then  the 
world  emanated  from  Him,  then  matter  was  produced 
from  His  essence.  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  matter, 
therefore!  all  material  forms  are  veils  behind  which 
the  Divine  Spirit  lies  hidden.  But  in  that  case,  the 
world  is  everlasting,  in  that  case  the  world  is  God ! 


SERAPHITA  277 

Is  not  that  proposition  even  more  fatal  than  the 
preceding  one  to  the  attributes  imputed  to  God  by 
human  knowledge?  Can  the  present  state  of  matter 
be  explained  if  it  came  forth  from  God's  bosom  and 
is  joined  to  Him  forever?  How  can  we  believe  that 
the  Omnipotent,  sovereignly  kind  in  His  essence  and 
His  faculties,  has  given  birth  to  things  which  do  not 
resemble  Him,  that  He  does  not  everywhere  and  in 
all  respects  resemble  Himself?  Can  it  be  that  there 
were  some  vile  portions  of  His  being  which  He  cast 
off  one  day?  a  conjecture  less  insulting  and  absurd 
than  terrible  in  its  consequences,  because  it  brings 
us  back  to  the  two  principles  which  the  preceding 
argument  proves  to  be  untenable.  God  must  be 
ONE,  He  cannot  be  divided  without  renouncing  the 
most  important  of  His  powers. 

"  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  to  conceive  a  fraction 
of  God  which  is  not  God.  That  hypothesis  seemed 
so  criminal  to  the  Church  of  Rome  that  it  made 
the  presence  of  God  in  the  smallest  morsel  of  the 
Eucharist  an  article  of  its  faith.  How,  then,  can  one 
conceive  an  omnipotent  intelligence  which  does  not 
triumph?  How  attach  it,  without  instant  triumph, 
to  nature?  And  that  nature  searches,  plans,  re- 
stores, dies,  and  is  born  again;  it  is  even  more  per- 
turbed when  it  creates  than  when  everything  is  in 
a  state  of  fusion;  it  suffers,  groans,  shuts  its  eyes, 
does  evil,  goes  astray,  blots  itself  out,  disappears, 
begins  anew.  How  can  we  justify  the  almost  uni- 
versal misapprehension  of  the  divine  principle?  Why 
does  death  exist?  why  was  the  genius  of  Evil,  that 


278  SERAPHITA 

monarch  of  the  earth,  brought  forth  by  a  God  of  sov- 
ereign kindliness  in  His  essence  and  His  faculties,  who 
should  have  produced  nothing  that  is  not  in  conform- 
ity with  Himself?  But  if,  from  this  irreconcilable  re- 
sult, which  leads  us,  first  of  all,  to  an  absurdity,  we 
pass  to  details,  what  end  can  we  assign  to  the  world? 
If  everything  is  God,  everything  is  both  effect  and 
cause;  or  rather  there  is  no  cause  and  no  effect: 
everything  is  ONE  like  God,  and  you  can  discover 
no  point  of  departure  or  of  arrival.  Can  the  real 
end  be  a  rotation  of  matter  in  the  constant  process 
of  refinement?  In  whatever  direction  it  might  take 
place,  would  it  not  be  the  merest  child's  play,  the 
evolution  of  that  matter  that  came  forth  from  God 
returning  to  God  again?  Why  should  He  vulgarize 
Himself?  In  what  shape  is  God  most  godlike?  Which 
is  in  the  right,  matter  or  spirit,  when  neither  of  the 
two  can  be  in  the  wrong?  Who  can  recognize  God 
in  that  incessant  toil  in  which  He  must  divide  Him- 
self into  two  natures,  one  of  which  knows  nothing, 
the  other  everything?  Can  you  imagine  God  amus- 
ing Himself  in  human  shape  with  His  own  perform- 
ances, laughing  at  his  own  efforts,  dying  on  Friday 
to  be  born  again  on  Sunday,  and  continuing  the  jest 
from  century  to  century,  knowing  from  all  eternity 
what  the  end  of  all  things  is  to  be?  telling  Himself  as 
the  creature  nothing  of  what  He  does  as  Creator? 

"  The  God  of  the  second  hypothesis,  powerless  by 
the  force  of  His  inertia,  seems  more  possible,  if  we 
must  choose  between  impossibilities,  than  this  idiot- 
ically jesting  God  who  fires  upon  Himself  when  two 


SERAPHITA  279 

bodies  of  men  confront  each  other  with  arms  in  their 
hands.  However  absurd  this  extreme  application  of 
the  second  branch  of  the  problem,  it  was  adopted  by 
half  of  the  human  race,  among  the  nations  who  wor- 
shipped smiling  gods.  Those  amorous  nations  were 
consistent:  with  them  everything  was  God,  even 
fear  and  its  dastardly  consequences,  even  crime  and 
its  bacchanalia.  If  we  accept  pantheism,  the  re- 
ligion of  some  great  human  intellects,  who  knows 
where  the  right  is  then  to  be  found?  Is  it  with  the 
free  savage  in  the  desert,  clad  in  his  nakedness,  sub- 
lime and  always  just  in  his  acts  whatever  they  may 
be,  listening  to  the  sun,  talking  with  the  sea?  Or 
is  it  with  the  civilized  man  who  owes  his  greatest 
pleasures  to  falsehoods,  who  twists  and  crowds  na- 
ture in  order  to  throw  a  musket  over  his  shoulder, 
who  has  abused  his  intellect  in  order  to  hasten  the 
hour  of  his  death  and  to  invent  diseases  in  all  his 
pleasures?  When  the  rake  of  pestilence  or  the 
ploughshare  of  war,  when  the  genius  of  the  deserts 
passed  over  a  corner  of  the  globe,  destroying  every- 
thing in  its  path,  which  triumphed,  the  Nubian 
savage,  or  the  patrician  of  Thebes?  Your  doubts 
descend  from  top  to  bottom.  They  embrace  every- 
thing, the  end  as  well  as  the  means.  If  the  physical 
world  seems  inexplicable,  the  moral  world  proves 
even  more  against  God. 

"  Where,  then,  is  progress?  If  everything  is  pro- 
gressing toward  perfection,  why  do  we  die  when  chil- 
dren? why  do  not  nations,  at  least,  live  forever?  Is 
the  world,  the  issue  of  God  and  contained  in  God, 


280  SERAPHITA 

stationary?  Do  we  live  but  once?  do  we  live  al- 
ways? If  we  live  but  once,  hurried  onward  by  the 
march  of  the  Great  Whole,  knowledge  of  which  has 
not  been  vouchsafed  to  us,  let  us  live  as  we  please! 
If  we  are  immortal,  let  us  swim  with  the  tide!  Can 
the  creature  be  blameworthy  for  existing  at  the  mo- 
ment when  transitions  occur?  If  it  sins  at  the 
moment  of  a  great  transformation,  will  it  be  pun- 
ished after  having  been  its  victim?  What  are  we  to 
think  of  the  divine  goodness  which  does  not  set  us 
down  at  once  in  the  realms  of  happiness,  if  there  be 
any  such?  What  of  God's  prescience  if  He  does 
not  know  the  results  of  the  tests  to  which  He  sub- 
jects us?  What  is  this  alternative  presented  to  man 
by  all  religions,  between  boiling  in  an  everlasting  cal- 
dron and  walking  about  in  a  white  robe,  with  a  palm- 
branch  in  one's  hand  and  a  halo  about  one's  head? 
Can  it  be  that  that  heathen  invention  is  the  last  word 
of  a  true  God?  Moreover,  what  generous  mind  does 
not  deem  virtue  prompted  by  self-interest  unworthy 
of  man  and  of  God,  the  virtue  that  looks  forward 
to  an  eternity  of  pleasure  promised  by  all  religions  to 
him  who  complies  for  a  few  hours  of  his  life  with 
certain  fantastic  and  often  unnatural  conditions?  Is 
it  not  absurd  to  endow  a  man  with  fierce  passions 
and  to  forbid  him  to  gratify  them?  But  of  what  use 
are  these  feeble  objections  when  good  and  evil  are 
equally  annulled?  Does  evil  exist?  If  matter  in  all 
its  forms  is  God,  then  evil  is  God.  The  reasoning 
faculty,  as  well  as  the  sentient  faculty,  being  given 
to  man  to  use,  nothing  can  be  more  natural  than  to 


SERAPHITA  28l 

seek  a  meaning  for  human  sorrows  and  to  question 
the  future;  if  this  straightforward,  strict  reasoning 
leads  to  such  a  conclusion,  what  confusion  results! 

"  So  this  world  has  no  stability:  nothing  goes 
forward,  nothing  pauses,  everything  changes  and 
nothing  is  destroyed,  everything  returns  after  being 
restored;  for,  if  your  mind  does  not  point  out  to  you 
a  definite  end,  it  is  equally  impossible  to  point  to 
the  annihilation  of  the  smallest  particle  of  matter: 
it  can  change  its  form,  but  cannot  destroy  itself.  If 
blind  force  gives  the  victory  to  the  atheist,  intelli- 
gent force  is  inexplicable;  for,  emanating  from  God, 
should  not  its  triumph  be  instantaneous  if  it  en- 
counters obstacles?  Where  is  God?  If  the  living 
do  not  see  Him,  will  the  dead  find  Him?  Crumble, 
idolatries  and  religions!  Fall,  ye  too  weak  key- 
stones of  all  the  social  arches  that  have  failed  to 
delay  either  the  downfall,  the  death,  or  the  oblivion 
of  all  nations  of  past  time,  however  firmly  they  may 
have  been  established !  Fall,  ye  codes  of  morals 
and  of  laws!  our  crimes  are  purely  relative,  they  are 
divine  results  whose  causes  are  unknown  to  us! 
Everything  is  God.  Either  we  are  God,  or  God  is 
not!  Old  man,  child  of  an  age  whose  every  year 
has  placed  upon  your  brow  the  hoar-frost  of  its  in- 
credulity, this  is  the  sum  of  your  learning  and  your 
long  meditations.  Dear  Monsieur  Becker,  you  have 
laid  your  head  on  the  pillow  of  doubt,  finding  there 
the  most  convenient  of  all  solutions  of  the  problem, 
acting  in  harmony  with  the  majority  of  the  human 
race,  who  say  to  themselves:  '  Let  us  think  no  more 


282  SERAPHITA 

of  the  problem,  inasmuch  as  God  has  not  vouchsafed 
to  grant  us  an  algebraic  formula  for  its  solution, 
whereas  He  has  granted  us  so  many  to  enable  us 
to  find  our  way  surely  from  the  earth  to  the  stars.' 
Are  not  those  your  secret  thoughts?  Have  I  evaded 
them?  Have  I  not,  on  the  contrary,  set  them 
forth  clearly?  Whether  it  be  the  dogma  of  the  two 
basic  principles, — an  antagonism  wherein  God  be- 
comes impossible  from  the  very  fact  that,  being 
all-powerful,  He  condescends  to  contend  for  the 
supremacy, — or  the  absurd  pantheism  wherein  God 
ceases  to  exist  because  everything  is  God, — those 
two  sources  whence  are  derived  the  religions  for 
whose  triumph  the  earth  has  put  forth  its  energies 
are  equally  pernicious.  Thus  is  the  two-edged  axe 
cast  between  us,  the  axe  with  which  you  cut  off  the 
head  of  that  white-haired  old  man  enthroned  by  you 
upon  painted  clouds.  Now,  the  axe  is  mine!" 

Monsieur  Becker  and  Wilfrid  glanced  at  each 
other  with  a  sort  of  terror. 

"Faith,"  continued  Seraphita,  in  her  woman's 
voice, — for  the  man  had  spoken  hitherto, — "faith  is 
a  gift!  To  believe  is  to  feel.  To  believe  in  God  one 
must  feel  God.  That  feeling  is  a  faculty  slowly  ac- 
quired by  a  mortal,  as  the  marvellous  powers  are 
acquired  which  you  admire  in  great  men,  warriors, 
artists,  and  scholars,  those  who  know,  those  who 
produce,  those  who  act.  Thought,  a  union  of  the 
relations  you  observe  between  things,  is  a  mental 
language  which  must  be  learned,  is  it  not?  Faith, 
a  union  of  divine  truths,  is  also  a  language,  but 


SERAPHITA  283 

as  superior  to  thought  as  thought  is  to  instinct. 
That  language,  too,  must  be  learned.  The  believer 
answers  by  a  single  cry,  a  single  gesture ;  faith, 
places  in  his  hands  a  flaming  sword  with  which 
he  severs,  illumines  everything.  The  seer  is  not 
one  who  has  come  back  to  earth  from  heaven;  he 
gazes  at  the  sky  and  holds  his  peace.  There  is  a 
creature  who  believes  and  sees,  who  has  knowledge 
and  power,  who  loves  and  prays  and  waits.  Re- 
signed, aspiring  to  the  realms  of  light,  that  creature 
has  neither  the  disdain  of  the  believer  nor  the  silence 
of  the  seer;  it  listens  and  replies.  To  it,  the  doubt  of 
the  dark  ages  is  not  a  deadly  weapon,  but  a  guiding 
thread;  it  accepts  the  battle  in  all  its  forms;  it  adapts 
its  tongue  to  all  languages ;  it  does  not  fly  out  in 
anger,  it  pities;  it  neither  condemns  nor  kills  any- 
one, it  saves  and  comforts;  it  has  not  the  bitterness 
of  the  aggressor,  but  the  gentleness  and  modesty  of 
the  light  that  penetrates,  warms,  and  illumines  every- 
thing. In  its  eyes,  doubt  is  neither  impiety,  blas- 
phemy, nor  a  crime,  but  a  state  of  transition  from 
which  man  either  retraces  his  steps  toward  the 
darkness  or  goes  forward  toward  the  light.  Let  us 
reason,  therefore,  dear  pastor. 

"You  do  not  believe  in  God.  Why?  God,  in 
your  opinion,  is  incomprehensible,  inexplicable. 
Agreed.  I  will  not  say  to  you  that  to  understand 
God  in  His  entirety  would  be  to  be  God;  I  will  not 
remind  you  that  you  deny  what  seems  inexplicable 
to  you,  in  order  that  I  may  claim  the  right  to  affirm 
the  truth  of  what  seems  to  me  worthy  of  faith.  It 


284  SERAPHITA 

is  to  you  a  self-evident  fact  of  which  you  find  the 
proof  in  yourself.  In  you,  matter  ends  in  knowl- 
edge; and  do  you  think  that  human  knowledge 
should  end  in  darkness,  doubt,  negation?  Even  if 
God  seems  incomprehensible,  inexplicable  to  you, 
you  will  at  least  confess  that  you  detect  in  every- 
thing purely  physical  the  hand  of  a  consistent  and 
sublime  workman.  Why  should  His  logic  stop  at 
man,  His  most  finished  creation?  If  this  question  is 
not  convincing,  it  certainly  calls  for  some  reflection. 
If  you  deny  God,  luckily,  in  order  to  establish  your 
doubts,  you  must  recognize  certain  double-edged 
facts  which  destroy  your  arguments  quite  as  effec- 
tually as  your  arguments  destroy  God. 

"We  have  both  admitted  that  matter  and  spirit 
are  two  distinct  creations  which  do  not  include  each 
other,  that  the  spiritual  world  is  made  up  of  an 
infinite  number  of  abstract  relations  to  which  the 
finite  material  world  gives  birth;  that,  if  no  one  on 
earth  had  ever  been  able  to  identify  himself,  by 
virtue  of  the  overshadowing  power  of  his  mind, 
with  the  sum  total  of  earthly  creations,  so  much 
the  more  certain  is  it  that  no  one  could  rise  so  high 
as  to  understand  the  relations  which  the  mind  ob- 
serves between  those  creations.  For  instance,  we 
might  put  an  end  to  the  discussion  in  a  moment  by 
denying  you  the  power  to  understand  God,  just  as 
you  deny  the  stones  in  the  fiord  the  power  to  see 
and  to  count  themselves.  Can  you  say  that  those 
very  stones  do  not  deny  man,  although  he  takes 
them  to  build  his  houses?  It  is  a  fact  that  crushes 


SERAPHITA  285 

you,  the  infinite ;  if  you  feel  it  within  you,  how 
can  you  fail  to  admit  its  consequences?  can  the 
finite  have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  infinite?  If 
you  cannot  grasp  the  relations  which,  by  your  own 
admission,  are  infinite,  how  will  you  grasp  the  dis- 
tant purpose  to  which  they  all  tend?  Order,  the 
revelation  of  which  is  one  of  your  requirements, 
being  infinite,  can  your  limited  reason  understand  it? 
And  do  not  ask  why  man  cannot  understand  what 
he  can  see,  for  he  also  sees  what  he  does  not 
understand.  If  I  prove  to  you  that  your  mind  is 
ignorant  of  everything  within  its  range,  will  you 
grant  me  that  it  is  impossible  for  it  to  grasp  what 
is  beyond  its  range?  Shall  I  not  in  that  case  have 
the  right  to  say  to  you:  '  One  of  the  conditions 
under  which  God  loses  His  cause  before  the  tribunal 
of  your  reason  must  be  true,  the  other  is  false;  as 
creation  exists,  you  feel  the  necessity  of  an  end  for 
which  it  exists;  must  not  that  end  be  a  noble  one? 

"  '  Now,  if  matter  in  man  ends  in  intelligence,  why 
will  you  not  be  content  with  the  knowledge  that  the 
goal  of  human  intelligence  is  the  light  of  the  upper 
spheres  for  which  is  reserved  the  intuitive  compre- 
hension of  that  God  who  seems  to  you  to  be  an  in- 
soluble problem?  The  animal  species  below  you  in 
the  scale  of  creation  do  not  understand  the  distinction 
between  the  material  and  spiritual  worlds,  and  you 
do;  why  should  there  not  be  other  species  above  you 
more  intelligent  than  yours?  Before  employing  his 
energies  in  taking  God's  measure,  should  not  man 
be  better  informed  than  he  is  about  himself?  Before 


286  SERAPHITA 

threatening  the  stars  that  give  him  light,  before  at- 
tacking certainties  that  are  beyond  his  understand- 
ing, should  he  not  establish  the  certainties  that 
directly  concern  him?' — But  to  the  negations  of 
doubt  I  ought  to  reply  by  negations.  Now,  there- 
fore, 1  ask  you  if  there  is  anything  here  on  earth 
sufficiently  evident  in  itself  for  me  to  put  faith  in  it? 
In  a  moment,  I  propose  to  prove  to  you  that  you 
believe  implicitly  in  things  which  act  but  are  not  hu- 
man beings,  which  engender  thought  but  are  not 
minds,  in  living  abstractions  which  the  understanding 
cannot  grasp  in  any  shape,  which  are  nowhere,  but 
which  you  find  everywhere;  which  have  no  possi- 
ble name,  but  which  you  have  named;  which,  like 
the  fleshly  God  whom  you  imagine,  perish  before  the 
incomprehensible,  the  inexplicable,  and  the  absurd. 
And  I  will  ask  you  how  it  is  that  you  accept  these 
things,  and  reserve  all  your  doubts  for  God.  You 
believe  in  number,  the  foundation  upon  which  you 
rest  the  edifice  of  those  sciences  which  you  call 
exact.  Without  number,  no  more  mathematics. 

"  Very  well;  what  mysterious  being,  even  though 
he  should  be  accorded  the  privilege  of  living  forever, 
could  finish  naming,  in  what  language  could  he  name 
with  sufficient  speed,  the  number  which  would  con- 
tain the  infinite  numbers  whose  existence  is  demon- 
strated to  you  by  your  mind?  Ask  the  greatest  of 
all  human  geniuses,  and  what  reply  would  he  make 
after  sitting  beside  a  table  for  a  thousand  years  with 
his  head  in  his  hands  ?  You  know  neither  where  num- 
ber begins,  nor  where  it  stops,  nor  when  it  will  end. 


SERAPHITA  287 

Here  you  call  it  time;  there  you  call  it  space;  nothing 
exists  except  by  it;  without  it  all  creation  would  be 
a  single  uniform  substance,  for  it  alone  differentiates 
and  modifies.  Number  is  to  your  mind  what  it  is  to 
matter,  an  incomprehensible  agent.  Will  you  make 
it  a  god?  is  it  a  human  being?  is  it  a  breath  ema- 
nating from  God  to  organize  the  material  universe, 
where  nothing  obtains  its  form  except  by  virtue  of 
the  divisibility  which  is  an  effect  of  number?  Are 
not  the  smallest  as  well  as  the  vastest  creations  dis- 
tinguished from  one  another  by  their  quantities, 
their  qualities,  their  dimensions,  their  forces,  all  of 
which  are  attributes  to  which  number  gives  birth? 
The  infinitude  of  numbers  is  a  fact  proved  to  your 
satisfaction,  but  of  which  no  material  proof  can  be 
given.  The  mathematician  will  tell  you  that  in- 
finitude of  numbers  exists,  that  it  is  not  proved. 
God,  dear  pastor,  is  a  number  endowed  with  move- 
ment, which  is  felt,  not  proved,  so  the  believer  will 
tell  you.  Like  unity,  He  is  the  beginning  of  a  series 
of  numbers  with  which  He  has  nothing  in  common. 
The  existence  of  number  depends  upon  unity,  which, 
while  not  itself  a  number,  engenders  all  numbers. 
God,  dear  pastor,  is  a  glorious  unity  who  has  noth- 
ing in  common  with  His  creations,  and  who,  never- 
theless, engenders  them  all.  Confess,  therefore, 
that  you  are  as  ignorant  of  the  beginning  and  end 
of  created  eternity  as  of  the  beginning  and  end  of 
number.  Why,  if  you  believe  in  number,  do  you 
deny  God?  Does  not  creation  stand  between  the 
infinity  of  inorganic  substances  and  the  infinity  of 


288  SERAPHITA 

divine  spheres,  just  as  unity  stands  between  the 
infinity  of  fractions  which  you  have  lately  begun 
to  call  decimal,  and  the  infinity  of  numbers  which 
you  call  integers?  You  alone  upon  earth  understand 
number,  that  first  step  of  the  staircase  that  leads  to 
God,  and  already  your  mind  stumbles.  What!  you 
can  neither  measure  the  first  abstract  idea  that  God 
submits  to  you,  nor  grasp  it,  and  yet  you  propose 
to  apply  your  measure  to  God's  purposes? — What 
would  happen,  pray,  if  I  should  plunge  you  into  the 
abyss  of  motion,  the  force  that  organizes  number? 
For  instance,  if  I  say  to  you  that  the  universe  is 
nothing  but  number  and  motion,  you  see  that  we  are 
already  speaking  a  different  language.  I  understand 
them  both,  and  you  do  not  understand  them.  What 
would  result,  then,  if  1  should  add  that  motion  and 
number  are  engendered  by  the  Word  ?  Of  that  Word, 
the  supreme  argument  of  the  seers  and  prophets  who 
heard  long  ago  that  breath  from  God  beneath  which 
Saint  Paul  fell,  of  that  Word  you  men  make  sport,  al- 
though all  your  visible  works,  societies,  monuments, 
deeds,  and  passions  proceed  from  your  feeble  word, 
and  although,  without  speech,  you  would  resemble 
that  species  of  animal  that  so  closely  resembles  the 
negro,  the  man-ape.  Thus  you  firmly  believe  in  mo- 
tion and  in  number,  an  inexplicable,  incomprehensi- 
ble force  and  result,  as  to  the  existence  of  which  I 
can  propound  the  same  dilemma  which  just  now  was 
your  excuse  for  not  believing  in  God.  Will  not  you, 
powerful  reasoner  that  you  are,  excuse  me  from 
proving  to  you  that  the  infinite  must  be  always  like 


SERAPHITA  289 

itself,  and  that  it  is  necessarily  one?  God  alone  is 
infinite,  for  surely  there  cannot  be  two  infinities. 
If,  to  employ  the  words  of  men,  anything  whose  ex- 
istence is  proved  to  you  here  on  earth  seems  to  you 
to  be  infinite,  be  certain  that  you  are  face  to  face 
with  some  phase  of  God. — Let  us  pass  on. 

"  You  have  appropriated  to  yourself  a  place  in 
the  infinity  of  number,  you  have  adapted  it  to  your 
measure  by  creating,  assuming  that  you  can  create 
anything,  arithmetic,  the  foundation  upon  which 
everything  rests,  even  your  social  systems.  Just 
as  number,  the  only  thing  in  which  your  so-called 
atheists  believe,  organizes  the  physical  creations,  so 
does  arithmetic,  the  handmaid  of  number,  organize 
the  moral  world.  This  numeration  must  be  abso- 
lute, like  everything  that  is  true  in  itself;  but  it  is 
purely  relative,  it  has  no  absolute  existence,  you 
can  bring  forward  no  proof  of  its  reality.  In  the 
first  place,  although  this  numeration  is  clever  in 
computing  organized  substances,  it  is  impotent  so  far 
as  the  organizing  forces  are  concerned,  the  former 
being  finite,  the  latter  infinite.  Man,  who  by  virtue 
of  his  intelligence  conceives  the  existence  of  the  in- 
finite, could  not  handle  it  in  its  entirety;  could  he 
do  so,  he  would  be  God.  Your  numeration,  there- 
fore, applied  to  finite  things  and  not  to  infinity,  is 
true  with  relation  to  the  details,  which  you  see,  but 
false  with  relation  to  the  whole,  which  you  do  not 
see. 

"  If  nature  always  resembles  itself  in  its  organiz- 
ing forces  or  in  its  principles  of  action,  which  are 
19 


2QO  SERAPHITA 

infinite,  it  never  does  in  its  finite  effects;  thus,  you 
will  never  find  in  all  nature  two  identical  objects;  in 
the  natural  order,  therefore,  two  and  two  can  never 
make  four,  for,  to  attain  that  result,  we  must  com- 
bine units  that  are  exactly  alike,  and  you  know  that 
it  is  impossible  to  find  two  leaves  alike  on  the  same 
tree,  or  two  identical  individuals  in  the  same  species 
of  tree.  That  axiom  of  your  numeration,  false  in 
visible  nature,  is  false  likewise  in  the  invisible  uni- 
verse of  your  abstractions,  where  the  same  variety 
is  found  in  your  ideas,  which  are  the  objects  of  the 
visible  world  extended  by  their  interrelations;  in- 
deed, the  differences  are  more  striking  there  than 
elsewhere.  In  fine,  as  everything  there  is  depend- 
ent upon  the  temperament,  the  force,  the  morals, 
the  habits,  of  individuals  who  never  resemble  one 
another,  the  slightest  objects  represent  individual 
feelings.  Assuredly,  if  man  has  been  able  to  create 
units,  he  has  done  it  by  giving  equal  value  to  bits  of 
gold  of  equal  weight.  Very  well;  you  can  add  the 
poor  man's  ducat  to  the  rich  man's  ducat,  and  say  to 
yourself  at  the  public  treasury,  that  they  are  two 
equal  quantities;  but,  in  the  eyes  of  the  thinker,  one 
of  them  is  surely  more  considerable  from  a  moral 
standpoint  than  the  other;  one  represents  a  month 
of  happiness,  the  other  represents  the  most  ephem- 
eral whim.  Two  and  two  make  four,  therefore, 
only  by  a  false  and  monstrous  abstraction.  Nor 
do  fractions  exist  in  nature,  where  what  you  call  a 
fragment  is  a  thing  complete  in  itself;  but  it  fre- 
quently happens,  and  you  have  proof  of  it,  that  the 


SERAPHITA  291 

hundredth  part  of  a  substance  is  stronger  than  what 
you  would  call  the  whole  substance.  If  the  fraction 
does  not  exist  in  the  natural  order,  still  less  does  it 
exist  in  the  moral  order,  where  ideas  and  feelings 
may  be  varied  like  the  species  of  the  vegetable 
order,  but  are  always  entire.  The  theory  of  frac- 
tions, therefore,  is  a  notable  instance  of  the  obliging 
nature  of  your  mind.  Thus,  number,  with  its  infin- 
itely small  divisions  and  its  infinite  expansions,  is  a 
power  of  which  but  a  small  part  is  known  to  you, 
and  of  which  the  full  scope  escapes  you.  You  have 
built  yourself  a  cottage  in  the  infinity  of  numbers, 
you  have  decorated  it  with  hieroglyphics  scien- 
tifically arranged  and  painted,  and  you  exclaim: 
'  Everything  is  there!' — From  pure  number  let  us 
pass  to  the  symbolized  applications  of  number. 

"Your  geometry  demonstrates  that  the  straight 
line  is  the  shortest  distance  between  two  points,  but 
your  astronomy  demonstrates  that  God  proceeds  by 
curved  lines  alone.  Thus  we  have  two  truths  proved 
in  the  same  science:  one  by  the  testimony  of  your 
senses  sharpened  by  the  telescope,  the  other  by  the 
testimony  of  your  mind:  but  of  these  one  contradicts 
the  other.  Man,  who  is  prone  to  err,  affirms  the 
first,  and  the  Maker  of  worlds,  whom  you  have 
never  detected  in  error,  denies  it.  Who  shall  decide, 
then,  between  rectilinear  geometry  and  curvilinear 
geometry?  between  the  theory  of  the  straight  line 
and  the  theory  of  the  curve?  If,  in  his  work,  the 
mysterious  artist,  who  knows  how  to  attain  his  ends 
with  marvellous  celerity,  employs  the  straight  line 


292  SERAPHITA 

only  to  cut  it  at  a  right  angle  in  order  to  obtain  a 
curve,  man  himself  can  never  rely  upon  it:  the 
bullet,  which  man  seeks  to  propel  in  a  straight  line, 
travels  in  a  curve,  and  when  you  wish  to  reach  a 
point  in  space  with  absolute  certainty,  you  command 
the  missile  to  follow  its  fatal  parabola.  Not  one  of 
your  scholars  has  ever  drawn  the  simple  deduction 
that  the  curve  is  the  law  of  the  material  world,  the 
straight  line  of  the  spiritual  world:  that  one  is  the 
theory  of  finite  creations,  the  other  is  the  theory  of 
the  infinite.  Man,  who  alone  on  earth  has  knowl- 
edge of  the  infinite,  alone  can  know  the  straight 
line;  he  alone  has  the  idea  of  verticality  in  a  special 
organ.  Would  not  an  attachment  to  the  curve  in 
certain  men  be  an  indication  of  an  impurity  of  their 
nature,  still  wedded  to  the  material  substances  which 
engender  us;  and  would  not  the  love  of  great  minds 
for  the  straight  line  seem  to  denote  in  them  a  pre- 
sentiment of  heaven?  Between  those  two  lines 
there  is  an  abyss,  as  there  is  between  the  finite  and 
the  infinite,  between  mind  and  matter,  between  man 
and  the  idea,  between  motion  and  the  object  moved, 
between  the  creature  and  the  Creator.  Ask  the 
divine  love  for  its  wings  and  you  may  cross  that 
abyss!  Beyond,  the  revelation  of  the  Word  begins. 
Nowhere  are  the  things  you  call  material  without 
depth;  lines  are  the  boundaries  of  solids  which  imply 
a  force  of  action  suppressed  by  you  in  your  theorems, 
which  suppression  makes  those  theorems  false  as  re- 
lating to  bodies  taken  in  their  entirety;  hence  the 
constant  destruction  of  all  human  monuments,  which 


SERAPHITA  293 

you  unwittingly  arm  with  active  properties.  Nature 
deals  only  with  bodies,  your  learning  is  simply  a 
combining  of  appearances. 

"So  it  is  that  nature  at  every  step  gives  the  lie 
to  all  your  laws;  can  you  name  a  single  one  which 
is  not  disproved  by  some  fact?  The  laws  of  your 
science  of  statics  are  belabored  by  numberless  inci- 
dents of  physics,  for  a  fluid  overthrows  the  most  solid 
mountains,  and  thus  proves  to  you  that  the  heaviest 
substances  may  be  upraised  by  imponderable  sub- 
stances. Your  laws  concerning  acoustics  and  optics 
are  contradicted  by  the  sounds  you  hear  within  your- 
selves during  sleep  and  by  the  light  of  an  electrical 
sun  whose  beams  often  blind  you.  You  have  no 
more  knowledge  of  how  light  becomes  intelligence 
in  you  than  of  the  simple  and  natural  process  which 
changes  it  to  ruby  or  sapphire  or  opal  or  emerald 
on  the  neck  of  an  East  Indian  bird,  while  it  remains 
gray  and  brown  on  the  neck  of  the  same  bird  when 
living  under  the  cloudy  skies  of  Europe,  and  while  it 
remains  white  here,  in  the  heart  of  the  polar  region. 
You  cannot  determine  whether  color  is  a  faculty  with 
which  bodies  are  endowed,  or  whether  it  is  an  effect 
produced  by  the  affusion  of  light.  You  admit  the 
saltness  of  the  sea  without  ascertaining  whether  the 
sea  is  salt  in  its  whole  depth.  You  have  acknowl- 
edged the  existence  of  several  substances  which  trav- 
erse what  you  believe  to  be  the  void;  substances 
which  are  not  palpable  in  any  of  the  shapes  affected 
by  matter,  but  which  place  themselves  in  harmony 
with  it  despite  all  obstacles.  That  being  so,  you 


294  SERAPHITA 

believe  in  the  results  attained  by  chemistry,  although 
it  has  as  yet  discovered  no  method  of  estimating  the 
changes  caused  by  the  ebb  or  flow  of  the  substances 
which  come  and  go  through  your  crystals  and  your 
machines  on  the  intangible  threads  of  heat  or  light, 
guided,  controlled  by  the  affinities  of  the  metal  or  of 
the  vitrified  silica.  You  obtain  only  dead  substances 
from  which  you  have  expelled  the  unknown  force 
which  opposes  all  forms  of  decomposition  on  this 
earth,  and  of  which  the  power  of  attraction  and 
cohesion,  vibration  and  polarity,  are  merely  phenom- 
ena. 

"  Life  is  the  thought  of  bodies;  they  are  simply  a 
means  of  fixing  it,  of  confining  it  to  its  path;  if  bodies 
were  living  beings  by  themselves,  they  would  be  a 
cause  and  would  not  die.  When  a  man  sets  forth 
the  results  of  the  general  movement  shared  by  all 
created  things  in  proportion  to  their  power  of  absorp- 
tion, you  proclaim  him  a  scholar  par  excellence,  as  if 
genius  consisted  in  explaining  what  is.  True  genius 
should  cast  its  eyes  beyond  effects.  All  your  scholars 
would  laugh  if  you  should  say  to  them:  '  There 
might  be  such  a  well-defined  sympathy  between  two 
persons,  one  at  Java,  for  instance,  and  the  other 
here,  that  they  would  feel  the  same  sensation  at  the 
same  instant,  be  conscious  of  it,  question  each  other, 
and  reply  without  an  error!'  And  yet  there  are 
mineral  substances  which  exhibit  sympathy  for  one 
another  at  as  great  a  distance  as  in  the  case  I  men- 
tion. You  believe  in  the  power  of  the  electricity 
that  is  confined  in  the  magnet,  and  you  deny  the 


SERAPHITA  295 

power  of  that  which  the  soul  sets  free.  According 
to  your  theory,  the  moon,  whose  influence  over  the 
tides  seems  to  be  established  to  your  satisfaction, 
has  no  influence  over  the  winds  or  vegetation  or 
mankind;  it  moves  the  sea  and  eats  into  glass,  but 
it  must  respect  the  sick;  it  has  certain  relations  with 
one  moiety  of  humanity  but  has  no  influence  over 
the  other  moiety.  There  are  your  richest  certainties. 
Let  us  go  a  little  further.  Do  you  believe  in  physics? 
But  your  physics  begins,  like  the  Catholic  religion, 
with  an  act  of  faith.  Does  it  not  recognize  an  ex- 
ternal force,  distinct  from  matter,  to  which  it  com- 
municates motion?  You  see  its  effects,  but  what  is 
it?  where  is  it?  what  is  its  essence,  its  life?  has  it 
any  limits? — And  you  deny  God! 

"  Thus  the  majority  of  your  scientific  axioms, 
true  with  relation  to  man,  are  false  with  relation  to 
the  great  whole.  Science  is  indivisible,  and  you 
have  divided  it.  To  ascertain  the  real  meaning  of 
phenomenal  laws,  must  not  one  know  the  correla- 
tions existing  between  phenomena  and  the  law  of 
totality?  In  everything  there  is  an  external  appear- 
ance which  impresses  itself  upon  your  senses;  be- 
neath that  appearance  a  mind  is  stirring;  there  is 
body  and  mental  faculty.  Where  do  you  study 
the  relations  that  bind  things  together?  Nowhere? 
Have  you  nothing  absolute,  then?  Your  most  cer- 
tain theses  rest  upon  the  analysis  of  material  forms 
whose  spirit  is  constantly  neglected  by  you.  There 
is  a  lofty  branch  of  knowledge  which  certain  men 
discover  too  late  and  dare  not  admit  it.  Such  men 


296  SERAPHITA 

have  realized  the  necessity  of  considering  bodies  not 
only  with  relation  to  their  mathematical  properties, 
but  also  in  their  hidden  affinities,  in  short,  as  a 
whole.  The  greatest  man  among  you  divined,  to- 
ward the  close  of  his  life,  that  everything  was  cause 
and  effect  reciprocally;  that  the  visible  worlds  bore 
a  fixed  relation  to  one  another,  and  were  subordinate 
to  the  invisible  worlds.  He  deplored  his  previous 
attempt  to  establish  absolute  precepts!  Counting  up 
his  worlds,  like  grape-seed  sown  in  space,  he  ex- 
plained their  cohesion  by  the  laws  of  planetary  and 
molecular  attraction;  you  did  homage  to  that  man. — 
Ah!  I  tell  you  that  he  died  in  despair.  Assuming  the 
centrifugal  and  centripetal  forces,  which  he  invented 
to  account  for  the  existence  of  the  universe,  to  be 
equal,  the  universe  would  stop,  and  yet  he  admitted 
the  existence  of  motion  in  an  indeterminate  sense; 
but,  assuming  those  forces  to  be  unequal,  the  con- 
fusion of  worlds  ensued  at  once.  So  that  his  laws 
were  not  absolute,  there  was  a  problem  still  more 
exalted  than  the  principle  upon  which  his  false  glory 
rests.  Thus,  the  interrelations  of  the  stars  and  the 
centripetal  force  of  their  internal  motion  prevented 
him  from  seeking  the  branch  upon  which  his  bunch 
of  grapes  hung.  Unhappy  man!  the  more  he  mag- 
nified space,  the  heavier  his  burden  grew.  He  has 
told  you  equilibrium  was  established  between  the 
parts;  but  what  became  of  the  whole?  He  contem- 
plated the  vast  expanse,  infinite  in  the  eyes  of  man, 
filled  by  those  groups  of  worlds  of  which  only  the 
most  minute  portion  is  disclosed  by  our  telescopes, 


SERAPHITA  297 

but  whose  immensity  is  made  manifest  by  the  rapid 
movement  of  light. 

"  That  sublime  contemplation  enabled  him  to 
perceive  infinite  worlds  which,  planted  in  that  ex- 
panse like  flowers  in  a  field,  are  born  like  infants, 
grow  like  youths,  die  like  old  men,  live  by  assimi- 
lating those  elements  of  their  atmosphere  which  are 
adapted  to  nourish  them,  worlds  which  have  a  centre 
and  a  principle  of  life,  which  are  protected  from  each 
other  by  their  orbits,  which,  like  plants,  absorb  and 
are  absorbed,  which  compose  a  whole  endowed  with 
life,  and  having  a  destiny  of  its  own.  At  that  sight, 
that  man  trembled !  He  knew  that  life  is  produced 
by  the  union  of  the  thing  with  its  active  principle, 
that  death  or  inertia,  weight,  in  short,  is  produced  by 
a  rupture  between  the  thing  and  the  motion  which 
is  peculiar  to  it;  thereupon,  he  foresaw  the  rending 
asunder  of  those  worlds  if  God  should  withdraw  his 
Word  from  them.  He  began  to  search  the  Apocalypse 
for  traces  of  that  Word.  You  believed  him  mad,  so 
mark  this:  he  was  seeking  pardon  for  his  genius. — 
You  came,  Wilfrid,  to  beg  me  to  solve  equations, 
to  walk  upon  a  rain-cloud,  to  plunge  into  the  fiord 
and  reappear  as  a  swan.  If  science  or  miracles 
were  the  sole  aim  of  humanity,  Moses  would  have 
bequeathed  to  you  the  method  of  calculating  fluxions, 
Jesus  Christ  would  have  illumined  the  obscurities  of 
your  sciences,  His  apostles  would  have  told  you  the 
source  of  those  endless  trains  of  gases  or  metals  in 
a  state  of  fusion,  attached  to  nuclei,  which  whirl 
about  in  order  to  solidify,  seeking  a  resting-place  in 


298  SERAPHITA 

the  ether,  and  which  sometimes  force  their  way  vio- 
lently into  a  planetary  system  when  they  come  in 
contact  with  a  star,  turn  it  from  its  course,  and  shat- 
ter it  by  the  shock,  or  destroy  it  by  the  infiltration 
of  their  deadly  gases.  Instead  of  helping  you  to  live 
in  God,  Saint  Paul  would  have  explained  that  food 
is  the  secret  bond  of  all  forms  of  creation  and  the 
visible  bond  of  all  animate  beings. 

"To-day,  the  greatest  miracle  would  be  to  find 
the  square  equal  to  the  circle,  a  problem  which  you 
deem  impossible,  but  which  is  undoubtedly  solved  in 
the  onward  march  of  worlds  by  the  intersection  of 
some  mathematical  line  whose  involutions  are  visible 
to  the  eye  of  spirits  who  have  reached  the  upper 
spheres.  Believe  me,  miracles  are  within  us,  not 
without.  Thus  did  the  natural  facts  come  to  pass 
which  the  peoples  of  old  thought  supernatural. 
Would  not  God  have  been  unfair  to  manifest  His 
power  to  some  generations  and  withhold  its  mani- 
festations from  others?  The  rod  of  brass  belongs 
to  one  and  all.  Neither  Moses,  nor  Jacob,  nor  Zoro- 
aster, nor  Paul,  nor  Pythagoras,  nor  Swedenborg, 
nor  the  most  obscure  messengers,  nor  the  most 
glorious  prophets  of  God  attained  a  greater  height 
than  you  may  attain.  But  for  nations  there  are 
hours  when  they  have  faith.  If  material  knowledge 
is  to  be  the  goal  of  human  efforts,  tell  me,  would 
societies,  those  great  homes  where  men  have  been 
wont  to  assemble,  be  always  providentially  dis- 
persed? If  civilization  were  the  aim  of  the  human 
race,  would  intelligence  perish?  would  it  remain 


SERAPH1TA  299 

purely  an  individual  attribute?  The  grandeur  of 
all  nations  that  have  been  great  was  based  upon 
exceptions;  when  there  ceased  to  be  exceptions, 
the  grandeur  vanished.  Would  not  the  seers,  the 
prophets,  the  messengers  of  God,  have  turned  their 
hands  to  knowledge,  instead  of  resting  them  on  faith? 
would  they  not  have  knocked  at  the  door  of  your 
brains,  instead  of  appealing  to  your  hearts?  They 
all  came  to  urge  the  nations  toward  God;  they  all 
proclaimed  the  blessed  path  by  saying  to  you  the 
simple  words  that  lead  to  the  kingdom  in  the  skies; 
all,  aflame  with  love  and  faith,  all,  inspired  by  that 
Word  which  hovers  over  nations,  encompasses  them, 
revivifies  them,  and  lifts  them  up,  employed  it  to 
serve  no  human  interest.  Your  great  geniuses, 
poets,  kings,  scholars,  have  been  swallowed  up  with 
their  cities,  and  the  desert  has  wrapped  them  once 
more  in  its  cloaks  of  sand;  while  the  names  of  those 
good  shepherds  are  still  blessed  and  survive  every 
disaster.  We  cannot  agree  upon  any  point.  We 
are  separated  by  yawning  chasms;  you  are  on  the 
side  of  darkness,  and  1  live  in  the  true  light.  Are 
these  the  words  that  you  wished  to  hear?  I  say 
them  joyfully,  for  they  may  work  a  change  in  you. 
Understand  that  there  are  sciences  of  mind  as  well 
as  sciences  of  matter.  Where  you  see  bodies,  I  see 
forces  which  tend  toward  one  another  by  virtue  of 
an  impulse  of  generation.  To  my  mind,  the  char- 
acter of  a  body  is  the  index  to  its  elements  and  the 
symbol  of  its  properties.  Those  elements  give  birth 
to  affinities  which  escape  your  notice,  but  which 


300  SERAPHITA 

are  connected  with  certain  centres.  The  different 
species  among  which  life  is  distributed  are  never- 
failing  sources  which  correspond  among  themselves. 
To  each  its  special  product.  Man  is  effect  and  cause; 
he  is  nourished,  but  he  also  nourishes. 

"  By  calling  God  the  Creator,  you  belittle  Him; 
He  did  not  create,  as  you  believe,  either  the  plants 
or  the  animals  or  the  stars;  could  He  proceed  by 
diverse  methods?  did  He  not  act  on  the  sole  princi- 
ple of  unity  of  composition?  Thus  He  created  ele- 
ments which  should  develop  according  to  His  general 
law,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  surroundings  in  which 
they  happened  to  be  placed.  Thus  a  single  sub- 
stance, and  motion;  a  single  plant,  a  single  animal, 
but  constant  relations.  In  fine,  all  the  affinities  are 
connected  by  points  of  similarity,  and  the  life  of  the 
worlds  is  drawn  toward  fixed  centres  by  a  famished 
aspiration,  just  as  you  are  all  impelled  by  hunger  to 
seek  food.  To  give  you  an  example  of  affinities  con- 
nected by  similarities, — a  secondary  law  upon  which 
all  creations  of  your  thought  repose, — music,  a  celes- 
tial art,  is  an  application  of  that  principle;  is  it  not  a 
blending  of  sounds  harmonized  by  number?  Is  not 
sound  a  modification  of  the  air,  by  compression,  ex- 
pansion, reverberation?  You  know  the  composition 
of  the  air:  nitrogen,  oxygen,  and  carbon.  As  you 
can  obtain  no  sound  in  a  vacuum,  it  is  clear  that 
music  and  the  human  voice  are  the  result  of  the 
union  of  organized  chemical  substances  with  the 
same  substances  prepared  within  you  by  your  mind, 
and  harmonized  by  means  of  light,  the  great  source 


SERAPHITA  301 

of  nutriment  to  your  globe;  have  you  ever  contem- 
plated the  masses  of  nitre  deposited  by  the  snow, 
have  you  ever  looked  upon  the  lightning-flash  and 
the  plants  inhaling  the  metals  which  they  assimilate, 
without  forming  the  conclusion  that  the  sun  melts 
and  distributes  the  subtle  essence  that  nourishes 
everything  on  this  earth?  As  Swedenborg  said: 
The  earth  is  a  man!  Your  present-day  learning, 
which  makes  you  great  in  your  own  eyes,  is  paltry 
stuff  compared  with  the  floods  of  light  with  which 
the  seers  are  surrounded.  Cease,  cease  to  question 
me,  our  languages  are  not  the  same.  I  have  used 
yours  for  a  moment  in  order  to  cast  a  gleam  of  faith 
into  your  souls,  to  give  you  a  skirt  of  my  cloak,  and 
lead  you  to  the  beautiful  regions  of  prayer.  Is  it 
for  God  to  stoop  to  your  level  ?  is  it  not  your  duty 
to  rise  to  Him?  If  human  reason  has  so  soon  ex- 
hausted its  strength,  placing  God  at  the  top  of  its 
ladder  so  that  it  might  see  Him,  but  failing  to 
reach  Him,  is  it  not  evident  that  we  must  seek 
some  other  path  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  Him? 
That  path  is  in  ourselves.  The  seer  and  the 
believer  find  within  them  eyes  more  piercing 
than  the  eyes  they  apply  to  earthly  things,  and 
they  descry  the  dawn.  Listen  to  this  truth : 
your  most  exact  sciences,  your  boldest  medita- 
tions, your  brightest  gleams  of  intelligence,  are 
clouds.  Above  is  the  sanctuary  whence  the  true 
light  gushes  forth." 

She  sat  down  and  ceased  to  speak,  but  her  placid 
features  gave   not  the  slightest  indication   of   the 


302  SERAPHITA 

excitement  orators  feel  after  their  least  vehement 
extempore  harangues. 

"Who  told  her  all  that?"  Wilfrid  whispered  in 
Monsieur  Becker's  ear. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  replied. 

"  He  was  pleasanter  on  the  Falberg,"  said  Minna 
to  herself. 

Seraphita  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  said 
with  a  smile: 

"  You  are  very  thoughtful  this  evening,  gentle- 
men. You  treat  Minna  and  myself  like  men  to 
whom  you  can  talk  politics  and  business,  whereas 
we  are  two  girls  to  whom  you  ought  to  tell  pretty 
stories  while  we  drink  our  tea,  as  the  custom  is  in 
Norway. — Come,  Monsieur  Becker,  tell  me  some  of 
the  saga  that  I  don't  know.  Tell  me  the  saga  of 
Frithiof,  that  story  which  you  believe  so  implicitly, 
and  which  you  promised  to  tell  me.  Tell  us  about 
the  peasant's  son  who  owned  a  ship  that  had  a 
soul  and  could  talk.  1  dream  of  the  frigate  Ellidal 
Wasn't  that  the  name  of  the  fairy  with  sails  upon 
which  young  girls  were  supposed  to  sail?" 

"As  we  have  come  back  to  Jarvis  once  more," 
said  Wilfrid,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Seraphita 
as  the  eyes  of  a  robber  crouching  in  the  shadow 
glare  at  the  spot  where  the  treasure  lies,  "tell  me 
why  you  do  not  marry?" 

"  You  are  all  born  widows  or  widowers,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  but  my  marriage  was  arranged  when  I  was 
born,  and  I  am  betrothed — " 

"  To  whom?"  they  all  asked  at  once. 


SERAPHITA  303 

"  Let  me  keep  my  secret,"  said  she.  "  I  promise, 
if  our  father  is  willing,  to  invite  you  to  my  myste- 
rious nuptials." 

"  Will  they  be  soon?" 

"  I  am  waiting." 

A  long  silence  followed  her  last  words. 

"  The  springtime  has  come,"  said  Seraphita;  "the 
uproar  of  the  rushing  waters  and  the  breaking  ice 
is  beginning ;  will  you  not  come  and  salute  the  first 
springtime  of  a  new  century?" 

She  rose,  followed  by  Wilfrid,  and  they  walked 
together  to  a  window  which  David  had  opened. 
After  the  long  silence  of  winter,  the  mighty  waters 
were  stirring  beneath  the  ice  and  roaring  in  the  fiord 
like  loud  music;  for  there  are  sounds  which  distance 
purifies,  and  which  reach  the  ear  like  waves  of  light 
and  of  refreshing  coolness. 

"  Cease,  Wilfrid,  cease  to  give  utterance  to  evil 
thoughts  whose  triumph  would  be  a  heavy  burden 
for  you  to  bear.  Who  could  not  read  your  desires 
in  the  gleam  of  your  eyes?  Be  noble,  bend  your 
steps  toward  the  good!  is  it  not  going  far  beyond 
the  love  of  men  to  sacrifice  one's  self  entirely  to  the 
happiness  of  the  person  whom  one  loves?  Obey  me 
and  I  will  lead  you  into  a  path  where  you  will  obtain 
all  the  grandeurs  of  which  you  dream,  and  where  love 
will  be  truly  infinite." 

She  left  Wilfrid  lost  in  thought. 

"  Is  this  sweet  creature  really  the  prophetess 
whose  eyes  a  moment  since  shot  fire,  who  talked 
in  thunder  tones  about  the  different  worlds,  whose 


304  SERAPHITA 

hand  brandished  the  axe  of  doubt  against  our 
sciences?  Have  we  just  waked  up?"  he  said  to 
himself. 

"Minna,"  said  Seraphitus,  returning  to  the  min- 
ister's daughter,  "  the  eagles  fly  where  the  dead 
bodies  are,  the  doves  to  the  living  springs,  to  the 
green  and  peaceful  shade.  The  eagle  soars  aloft, 
the  dove  descends.  Cease  to  risk  your  welfare  in 
a  region  where  you  will  find  neither  springs  nor 
shade.  If,  but  recently,  you  were  unable  to  look 
into  the  abyss  without  being  overcome,  keep  your 
strength  for  the  man  who  will  love  you.  My  poor 
girl,  I  have  my  own  betrothed,  as  you  know." 

Minna  rose  and  went  with  Seraphitus  to  the  win- 
dow where  Wilfrid  was.  All  three  listened  to  the 
Sieg  rushing  down  under  the  pressure  of  the  higher 
streams  which  were  already  uprooting  trees  caught 
in  the  ice.  The  fiord  had  recovered  its  voice.  The 
illusions  were  dissipated.  They  all  gazed  in  admi- 
ration at  the  spectacle  of  nature  throwing  off  her 
fetters,  and,  as  it  were,  replying  with  a  sublime  out- 
burst of  melody  to  the  spirit  whose  voice  had  just 
awakened  her. 

When  the  mysterious  creature's  three  guests  left 
her,  they  were  filled  with  that  vague  sensation  which 
is  neither  somnolence  nor  torpor  nor  amazement, 
but  which  resembles  all  of  these;  which  is  neither 
the  twilight  nor  the  dawn,  but  which  makes  one 
thirsty  for  light.  All  were  thinking  deeply. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  that  she  is  a  spirit  disguised  in 
human  form,"  said  Monsieur  Becker. 


SERAPHITA  305 

Wilfrid,  once  more  in  his  own  apartment,  in  calm 
and  determined  mood,  did  not  know  how  to  contend 
with  forces  of  such  majesty  and  diversity. 

Minna  said  to  herself : 

"  Why  will  he  not  let  me  love  him?" 


THE   FAREWELLS 

There  is  in  man  a  phenomenon  perplexing  beyond 
measure  to  the  meditative  minds  which  seek  to  dis- 
cover a  meaning  in  the  onward  march  of  societies 
and  to  establish  laws  of  progression  for  the  move- 
ment of  the  human  intellect.  However  momentous 
a  fact  may  be,  and — if  supernatural  facts  could  ex- 
ist— however  solemn  and  impressive  a  miracle  per- 
formed in  public  might  be,  the  lightning-flash  of  that 
fact,  the  thunder  of  that  miracle,  would  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  moral  ocean,  whose  surface,  hardly  rough- 
ened by  a  swiftly  passing  commotion,  would  at  once 
resume  the  level  of  its  usual  fluctuations. 

Does  the  voice  pass  through  the  animal's  jaws  to 
make  itself  heard  more  distinctly?  Does  the  hand 
write  upon  the  walls  of  the  banqueting-hall  where 
the  court  disports  itself?  Does  the  eye  illumine  the 
king's  sleep?  Does  the  prophet  come  to  explain 
dreams?  Does  death,  when  summoned,  rear  its 
head  in  the  luminous  regions  where  the  faculties  live 
again?  Does  the  spirit  stamp  out  matter  at  the  foot 
of  the  mystic  ladder  of  the  seven  spiritual  worlds 
which  rest  one  upon  another  in  space  and  make 
(307) 


308  SERAPHITA 

themselves  manifest  by  the  waves  of  light  which  fall 
in  cascades  upon  the  steps  of  the  celestial  court? 
However  deep  the  interior  revelation,  however  visi- 
ble the  exterior  revelation,  on  the  morrow  Balaam 
doubts  his  ass  and  himself;  Balthazar  and  Pharaoh 
require  the  Word  to  be  explained  by  two  prophets, 
Moses  and  Daniel.  The  spirit  comes,  bears  man 
away  above  the  earth,  divides  seas  for  him,  and 
lets  him  see  their  depths,  shows  him  the  places 
that  have  disappeared,  reanimates  for  him  the  dried 
bones  which  fill  the  great  valley  with  their  powder: 
the  Apostle  writes  the  Apocalypse!  Twenty  cen- 
turies later  human  knowledge  confirms  the  Apostle 
and  translates  his  images  into  axioms.  What  mat- 
ters it!  the  mass  continues  to  live  as  it  lived  yester- 
day, as  it  lived  in  the  first  Olympiad,  as  it  lived  on 
the  day  after  the  Creation  or  the  day  before  the 
great  catastrophe.  Doubt  covers  everything  with 
its  waves.  The  same  waves  beat  with  the  same 
movement  upon  the  human  granite  that  acts  as  the 
boundary  of  the  ocean  of  intelligence.  After  asking 
himself  if  he  saw  what  he  saw,  if  he  heard  aright 
the  words  that  were  spoken,  if  the  fact  were  a  fact, 
if  the  idea  were  an  idea,  man  resumes  his  former 
course,  turns  his  mind  to  his  business,  obeys  some 
slave  or  other  who  follows  death,  yields  to  forgetful- 
ness,  which  covers  with  its  black  cloak  a  former 
race  of  which  the  new  race  has  no  remembrance. 
Man  does  not  cease  to  move,  to  go  forward,  to  grow 
like  a  vegetable,  until  the  day  when  the  axe  strikes 
him  down.  If  that  power  of  the  waves,  if  that 


SERAPHITA  309 

constant  pressure  of  the  bitter  waters  prevents  all 
progress,  doubtless  it  forestalls  death  also.  Among 
men  of  superior  mould,  only  those  minds  which  are 
prepared  for  faith  descry  Jacob's  mystic  ladder. 

After  listening  to  the  words  in  which  Seraphita, 
being  questioned  with  such  solemnity,  had  set  forth 
the  vast  compass  of  the  divine  power,  as  an  organ 
fills  a  church  with  its  moaning  and  discloses  the 
musical  universe,  bathing  the  most  inaccessible 
arches  in  its  solemn  sounds,  playing,  like  the  light, 
among  the  most  graceful  decorations  of  the  capitals, 
Wilfrid  betook  himself  to  his  own  apartment,  dis- 
mayed by  having  seen  the  world  in  ruins,  and  above 
those  ruins  waves  of  light  of  strange  brilliancy 
pouring  from  the  hands  of  that  girl.  The  next  day, 
his  mind  was  still  filled  with  the  subject,  but  his 
terror  was  allayed  ;  he  did  not  feel  that  he  was  him- 
self destroyed  or  changed:  his  passions,  his  ideas, 
awoke  refreshed  and  vigorous.  He  went  to  break- 
fast with  Monsieur  Becker,  and  found  him  seriously 
absorbed  in  the  Treatise  upon  Incantations,  which  he 
had  been  looking  over  all  the  morning  in  order  that 
he  might  be  able  to  reassure  his  guest.  With  the 
childlike  good  faith  of  the  student,  the  minister  had 
turned  down  the  pages  on  which  Jean  Wier  cited 
authentic  instances  which  demonstrated  the  possi- 
bility of  the  events  of  the  preceding  night ;  for,  in 
the  eyes  of  learned  doctors,  an  idea  is  an  event,  just 
as  the  most  momentous  events  hardly  attain  the 
dignity  of  an  idea.  At  the  fifth  cup  of  tea  that 
the  two  philosophers  drank  together,  the  mysterious 


310  SERAPHITA 

evening  became  quite  natural.  The  celestial  truths 
were  arguments  of  greater  or  less  strength,  and 
susceptible  of  examination.  Seraphita  seemed  to 
them  to  be  a  young  woman  of  considerable  orator- 
ical power;  due  credit  must  be  given  to  her  fasci- 
nating voice,  to  her  seductive  beauty,  to  her  graceful 
gestures,  to  all  those  oratorical  arts  by  the  use  of 
which  an  actor  expresses  in  a  single  sentence  a 
whole  world  of  sentiments  and  thoughts,  while  in 
reality  the  sentence  is  often  most  commonplace. 

"Bah!"  said  the  worthy  minister,  with  a  philo- 
sophical grimace,  as  he  spread  a  layer  of  butter  on 
his  bread,  "  the  solution  of  such  lovely  enigmas  is 
six  feet  underground." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Wilfrid,  sugaring  his  tea, 
"  I  cannot  understand  how  a  girl  of  sixteen  can 
know  so  many  things,  for  her  speech  bristles  with 
facts  tightly  compressed  as  in  a  vise." 

"  Why,"  said  the  minister,  "  just  read  the  story  of 
this  young  Italian  girl,  who  knew  forty-two  lan- 
guages, ancient  and  modern,  at  the  age  of  twelve; 
and  the  story  of  this  monk  who  could  divine  people's 
thoughts  by  the  sense  of  smell !  In  Jean  Wier  and 
a  dozen  other  treatises  which  I  will  give  you  to  read, 
there  are  a  thousand  proofs  for  one." 

"  Even  so,  dear  pastor;  but  to  my  mind  Seraphita 
would  be  a  divine  creature  to  have  for  one's  own." 

"She  is  all  intellect,"  replied  Monsieur  Becker, 
doubtfully. 

Several  days  passed,  during  which  the  snow  in 
the  valleys  melted  by  slow  degrees;  the  green  leaves 


SERAPHITA  311 

in  the  forest  peeped  out  like  new  grass,  the  Nor- 
wegian landscape  prepared  its  finery  for  its  nuptials 
of  a  day.  During  that  brief  period  when  the  mild- 
ness of  the  air  made  life  possible  out-of-doors,  Sera- 
phita  remained  in  solitude.  Wilfrid's  passion  was 
intensified  by  the  irritation  caused  by  the  proximity 
of  a  beloved  woman  who  does  not  appear.  When 
that  indescribable  creature  received  Minna,  Minna 
detected  the  ravages  of  an  internal  fire:  her  voice 
had  become  hollow,  her  complexion  was  beginning 
to  fade;  and,  whereas  poets  would  hitherto  have 
compared  its  dazzling  whiteness  to  the  brilliancy  of 
the  diamond,  it  had  now  the  splendor  of  the  topaz. 

"  Have  you  seen  her?"  said  Wilfrid,  who  was 
prowling  around  the  Swedish  chateau  awaiting 
Minna's  return. 

"  We  are  going  to  lose  him,"  replied  the  girl,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Mademoiselle,"  cried  the  stranger,  restraining 
the  volume  of  voice  to  which  anger  impels  one,  "do 
not  make  sport  of  me!  You  can  love  Seraphita  only 
as  one  girl  loves  another,  not  with  the  love  with 
which  she  inspires  me.  You  do  not  know  what 
danger  you  would  incur  if  my  jealousy  were  justly 
aroused.  Why  can  I  not  go  to  her?  Is  it  you  who 
invent  obstacles?" 

"  I  do  not  know  by  what  right  you  probe  my  heart 
thus,"  replied  Minna,  calm  externally,  but  in  reality 
terribly  frightened.  "Yes,  I  love  him,"  she  con- 
tinued, recovering  the  courage  of  her  convictions  in 
order  to  confess  the  religion  of  her  heart.  "But 


312  SERAPHITA 

my  jealousy,  the  natural  attendant  of  love,  fears  no 
one  here.  Alas!  I  am  jealous  of  a  hidden  senti- 
ment which  engrosses  his  thoughts.  Between  him 
and  me  there  is  a  space  which  I  know  not  how  to 
cross.  I  would  that  I  knew  whether  the  stars  or  I 
love  him  the  more  dearly,  which  of  us  would  endure 
self-sacrifice  more  speedily  for  his  happiness?  Why 
should  I  not  be  at  liberty  to  declare  my  affection? 
In  presence  of  death,  we  can  avow  our  preferences, 
and,  monsieur,  Seraphitus  is  dying!" 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Minna;  the  siren  whom  I  have 
so  often  bathed  with  my  desires,  who  submitted  to 
my  admiration  as  she  reclined  coquettishly  upon 
her  divan,  graceful,  weak,  and  melancholy,  is  not  a 
young  man." 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  Minna,  wistfully,  "  he  whose 
powerful  hand  guided  me  over  the  Falberg  to  the 
soeler  yonder,  sheltered  by  the  Ice-Cap,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  highest  point  of  the  mountain,  "  is 
surely  not  a  weak  girl.  Ah!  if  you  had  heard  him 
prophesying!  His  poetry  was  the  music  of  thought. 
A  young  girl  could  not  have  commanded  the  deep 
tones  of  voice  that  moved  my  very  soul." 

"  But  what  certainty  have  you — "  said  Wilfrid. 

"  None,  save  that  of  the  heart,"  replied  Minna  in 
confusion,  hastily  interrupting  him. 

"  Well,  I,"  cried  Wilfrid,  darting  at  Minna  the  ter- 
rifying glance  of  the  desire  and  passion  that  kill — 
"  I,  who  know  how  powerful  is  my  self-control,  will 
prove  your  error  to  you." 

At  the  moment  when  words  were  thronging  to 


SERAPHITA  313 

Wilfrid's  tongue  as  rapidly  as  ideas  were  massing 
in  his  brain,  he  saw  Seraphita  coming  from  the 
Swedish  chateau,  followed  by  David.  Her  appear- 
ance allayed  his  excitement. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  only  a  woman  can  show  such 
grace,  such  pliancy  of  movement." 

"He  is  ill,  he  is  walking  out  for  the  last  time," 
said  Minna. 

David  withdrew  at  a  sign  from  his  mistress,  as 
Wilfrid  and  Minna  went  to  meet  her. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  falls  of  the  Sieg,"  she  said  to 
them,  voicing  an  invalid's  longing  of  the  sort  that 
one  hastens  to  gratify. 

A  light  white  mist  shrouded  the  valleys  and  the 
mountains;  the  peaks,  gleaming  like  stars,  pierced  it 
and  gave  it  the  aspect  of  a  moving  milky-way.  The 
sun  appeared  through  that  earthly  smoke  like  a  globe 
of  red-hot  iron.  Despite  these  last  gambols  of  winter, 
occasional  puffs  of  warm  air,  laden  with  the  perfume 
of  the  birch,  already  arrayed  in  its  white  buds,  and 
with  the  odors  exhaled  by  the  larches  whose  silken 
tufts  appeared  once  more — breezes  heated  by  the  in- 
cense and  sighing  of  the  earth  announced  the  beau- 
tiful springtime  of  the  North,  a  brief  outburst  of  joy 
on  the  part  of  the  most  melancholy  of  natures.  The 
wind  was  beginning  to  raise  the  veil  of  clouds  that 
partly  concealed  the  gulf.  The  birds  were  singing. 
The  bark  on  the  trees,  where  the  sun  had  not  yet 
dried  the  paths  made  by  the  frost,  which  trickled 
down  in  murmuring  streams,  enlivened  the  land- 
scape with  its  fantastic  appearance.  They  walked 


314  SERAPHITA 

in  silence  along  the  shore.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  alone 
gazed  at  that  spectacle,  magic  in  its  beauty  to  them 
who  had  grown  weary  of  the  monotonous  picture  of 
that  country-side  in  winter.  Their  companion  was 
pensive,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  distinguish  some  one 
voice  in  that  concert  of  nature.  They  reached  the 
verge  of  the  cliffs  between  which  the  Sieg  empties 
into  the  fiord,  at  the  end  of  the  long  avenue  lined 
with  venerable  firs  which  the  torrent  had  cut  for 
itself  in  an  undulating  line  through  the  forest,  a  path 
with  an  arched  ceiling  strongly  ribbed,  as  in  cathe- 
drals. From  that  point,  the  fiord  was  visible  in  its 
entire  length,  and  the  open  sea  sparkled  on  the  hori- 
zon like  a  steel  blade. 

At  that  moment,  the  mist  vanished,  and  disclosed 
the  blue  sky.  On  all  sides,  in  the  valleys,  around  the 
trees,  glistening  particles  still  flew  hither  and  thither, 
like  diamond-dust  swept  up  by  a  fresh  breeze,  superb 
catkins  of  drops  hanging  in  pyramids  at  the  ends  of 
twigs.  The  mountain  torrent  roared  above  them. 
From  its  surface  arose  a  vapor  tinged  with  all  the 
diverse  shades  of  light  by  the  sun,  whose  rays,  dis- 
solved into  their  elements,  formed  shafts  of  light 
in  the  seven  colors,  sending  forth  the  flames  of  in- 
numerable prisms  whose  reflections  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  in  every  direction.  That  wild  quay  was 
carpeted  by  several  varieties  of  lichen,  a  lovely 
material  made  lustrous  by  the  dampness,  and  figured 
like  a  magnificent  silk  hanging.  Heather  already  in 
flower  crowned  the  cliffs  with  its  artfully  blended 
garlands.  All  the  slender  branches,  attracted  by  the 


SERAPHITA  315 

cool  vapor  from  the  stream,  drooped  their  head- 
dresses of  foliage;  the  larches  waved  their  lacelike 
leaves,  caressing  the  pines,  which  stood  as  motion- 
less as  thought-worn  old  men.  That  luxuriant  array 
had  a  fitting  contrast  in  the  solemnity  of  the  ven- 
erable colonnades  presented  by  the  forests  on  the 
mountains  and  in  the  broad  expanse  of  the  fiord, 
spread  out  at  the  feet  of  the  three  spectators,  in 
which  the  torrent  drowned  its  frenzy.  And  last  of 
all,  the  sea  was  the  frame  of  that  page  written  by 
the  greatest  of  poets,  Chance,  to  whom  we  owe  the 
lack  of  order  in  the  creation,  which  seems  to  have 
been  left  to  its  own  devices.  Jar  vis  was  a  mere 
speck  in  that  landscape,  in  that  immensity,  sublime 
like  everything  which,  having  but  an  ephemeral  life, 
presents  a  swiftly-passing  image  of  perfection;  for  in 
accordance  with  a  law,  fatal  in  our  eyes  only,  crea- 
tions which  seem  finished,  the  favorites  of  our  hearts 
and  our  glances,  have  only  a  springtime  here.  On 
the  summit  of  that  cliff,  those  three  might  justly 
believe  themselves  alone  in  the  world. 

"  What  a  gorgeous  sight!"  cried  Wilfrid. 

"Nature  has  her  hymns,"  said  Seraphita.  "Is 
not  this  music  delicious?  Confess,  Wilfrid,  that  none 
of  the  women  you  have  known  has  ever  created 
such  a  beautiful  retreat  as  this.  Here  I  am  conscious 
of  a  feeling  rarely  inspired  by  the  sight  of  cities,  a 
feeling  that  would  lead  me  to  lie  for  an  indefinite 
time  amid  this  grass  that  grows  so  rapidly.  Lying 
there,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  sky,  with  open  heart, 
lost  in  the  bosom  of  the  boundless  expanse,  I  would 


316  SERAPHITA 

listen  to  the  sigh  of  the  flower  which  is  no  sooner 
free  from  its  primitive  covering  than  it  would  try  to 
run,  and  to  the  cries  of  the  eider-duck,  impatient  for 
naught  but  wings,  remembering  the  longings  of  man, 
who  resembles  them  all,  and  who,  like  them,  desires! 
But  this  is  woman's  poetry,  Wilfrid  !  You  descry  a 
voluptuous  suggestion  in  that  misty  liquid  expanse, 
in  those  embroidered  veils  in  which  nature  disports 
herself  like  a  coquettish  bride,  and  in  this  atmos- 
phere wherein  she  perfumes  her  green  tresses  for 
her  nuptials.  You  would  like  to  distinguish  the 
shape  of  a  naiad  in  yonder  vapory  gauze,  and,  in 
your  view,  I  ought  to  listen  to  the  masculine  voice 
of  the  torrent." 

"  Is  not  love  there,  like  a  bee  among  the  petals  of 
a  flower?"  replied  Wilfrid,  who,  detecting  traces 
of  an  earthly  feeling  in  her  for  the  first  time,  deemed 
the  moment  favorable  to  give  expression  to  his  effer- 
vescent passion. 

"Again?"  laughed  Seraph ita,  whom  Minna  had 
left  alone. 

She  was  climbing  a  cliff  on  which  she  had  spied 
blue  saxifrage. 

"Again!"  echoed  Wilfrid.  "Listen  to  me,'*  he 
said,  with  an  uncompromising  glance  which  en- 
countered a  sort  of  adamantine  armor,  "you  know 
not  what  I  am,  what  my  power  is,  and  what  my 
will.  Do  not  reject  my  last  prayer!  Be  mine  for 
the  welfare  of  the  world,  which  is  so  dear  to  your 
heart!  Be  mine,  that  I  may  have  a  pure  conscience, 
that  a  divine  voice  may  ring  in  my  ear  inspiring  me 


SERAPH1TA  317 

aright  in  the  vast  enterprise  which  I  have  resolved 
to  undertake,  impelled  by  my  hatred  of  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  but  which  I  would  accomplish  for  their 
good  if  you  bear  me  company.  What  more  noble 
mission  could  you  give  to  love?  of  what  nobler  r61e 
can  a  woman  dream?  I  came  to  this  country  medi- 
tating a  momentous  project." 

"And  you  will  sacrifice  its  grandeurs,"  she  said, 
"to  an  innocent  maiden,  whom  you  will  love,  and 
who  will  lead  you  into  the  paths  of  peace." 

"What  do  I  care?  I  want  none  but  you!"  he  re- 
plied, resuming  his  discourse.  "  This  is  my  secret. 
I  have  travelled  through  the  whole  North,  that  great 
workshop  where  the  new  races  are  forged  which 
spread  over  the  earth  like  human  streams  whose 
function  it  is  to  revivify  superannuated  civilization. 
I  wished  to  commence  my  work  at  some  point  in 
these  latitudes,  to  win  for  myself  there  the  empire 
which  force  and  intelligence  enable  one  to  obtain  over 
a  wandering  tribe,  to  train  it  to  fight,  to  make  war, 
to  spread  it  abroad  like  a  conflagration,  to  swallow 
up  Europe,  crying  liberty  here,  pillage  there,  glory 
to  one,  pleasure  to  another;  but  meanwhile  I  myself, 
like  the  figure  of  Destiny,  implacable  and  cruel, 
would  stalk  onward  like  the  tempest  which  assimi- 
lates all  the  elements  in  the  atmosphere  of  which 
the  lightning  is  composed,  and  fatten  myself  upon 
mankind  like  an  insatiable  scourge.  Thus  I  should 
have  conquered  Europe  at  a  time  when  it  is  awaiting 
the  new  Messiah  who  is  to  lay  waste  the  world  in 
order  to  reconstruct  its  social  systems.  Europe  will 


3l8  SERAPHITA 

no  longer  believe  in  anybody  save  the  man  who 
tramples  her  under  his  feet.  Some  day  poets  and 
historians  would  have  justified  my  life,  would  have 
magnified  my  fame,  would  have  imputed  exalted 
ideas  to  me, — me  to  whom  that  immense  jest, 
written  in  blood,  is  vengeance  pure  and  simple. 
But,  dear  Seraphita,  what  I  have  seen  has  disgusted 
me  with  the  North,  strength  here  is  too  blind,  and 
I  thirst  for  the  Indies!  A  duel  with  a  conceited, 
cowardly,  mercenary  government  is  far  more  attrac- 
tive to  me.  And  then,  too,  it  is  easier  to  excite  the 
imagination  of  nations  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  Cau- 
casus than  to  convince  the  mind  of  the  ice-bound 
countries  where  we  are.  I  am  tempted,  therefore, 
to  cross  the  Russian  steppes,  to  reach  the  borders 
of  Asia,  to  sweep  over  it  as  far  as  the  Ganges  with 
my  triumphant  human  inundation,  and  there  I  will 
overthrow  the  English  power.  Seven  men  have 
already  carried  out  this  scheme  at  different  times. 
I  will  renew  the  triumphs  of  art  as  the  Saracens  did 
when  Mahomet  turned  them  loose  on  Europe.  I  will 
be  no  paltry  king  like  those  who  to-day  govern  the 
former  provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire,  disputing 
with  their  subjects  over  tariffs.  No,  nothing  shall 
arrest  the  lightning  of  my  glances  or  the  tempest  of 
my  speech!  My  feet  shall  cover  a  third  of  the  globe, 
like  those  of  Genghis-Khan;  my  hand  shall  grasp  Asia 
as  Aurungzebe's  once  grasped  it.  Be  my  companion, 
take  your  seat,  O  fair  and  lovely  creature,  on  a 
throne.  I  have  never  felt  a  doubt  of  my  success — 
be  thou  in  my  heart  and  I  shall  be  sure  of  it!" 


SERAPHITA  319 

"  I  have  already  reigned,"  said  Seraphita. 

Those  words  were  like  the  blow  of  an  axe  dealt 
by  a  skilful  woodsman  at  the  foot  of  a  sapling  which 
instantly  falls.  Only  men  can  understand  the  frenzy 
a  woman  arouses  in  a  man's  heart,  when,  as  he 
strives  to  demonstrate  to  her  his  strength  or  his 
power,  his  talents  or  his  superior  genius,  the  capri- 
cious creature  puts  her  head  on  one  side  and  says: 
"  That  is  nothing!"  when  she  smiles  with  a  blast 
air  and  says:  "  I  know  all  that!"  when,  to  her  mind, 
strength  is  pettiness. 

"  What!"  cried  Wilfrid  in  desperation,  "  the  glories 
of  art,  the  treasures  of  the  world,  the  splendors  of  a 
court — " 

She  stopped  him  by  a  single  movement  of  her  lips, 
and  said: 

"  Beings  more  powerful  than  you  are  have  offered 
me  more." 

"  Then  you  can  have  no  heart,  if  you  are  not 
attracted  by  the  prospect  of  being  the  solace  of  a 
great  man  who  will  sacrifice  everything  to  live  with 
you  in  a  little  house  on  the  shore  of  a  lake." 

"  But,"  said  she,  "I  am  loved  with  a  love  that 
knows  no  bounds." 

"By  whom?"  cried  Wilfrid,  rushing  frantically 
toward  Seraphita,  to  hurl  her  into  the  foamy  cas- 
cade of  the  Sieg. 

She  looked  at  him,  his  arm  fell  by  his  side;  she 
pointed  to  Minna,  who  was  running  toward  them,  all 
pink  and  white,  and  pretty  as  the  flowers  she  held 
in  her  hand. 


320  SERAPHITA 

"  Child!"  said  Seraphitus,  going  to  meet  her. 

Wilfrid  remained  at  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  motion- 
less as  a  statue,  lost  in  his  thoughts,  longing  to  be 
whirled  away  by  the  rushing  waters  of  the  Sieg  like 
one  of  the  uprooted  trees  that  passed  before  his  eyes 
and  disappeared  in  the  bosom  of  the  gulf. 

"I  picked  them  for  you,"  said  Minna,  presenting 
her  nosegay  to  the  adored  one.  "One  of  them,  this 
one,"  she  continued,  selecting  a  flower,  "  is  like  the 
one  we  found  on  the  Falberg." 

Seraphitus  gazed  at  the  flower  and  at  Minna  in 
turn. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  to  me?  do  you  doubt  me?" 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  "  my  trust  in  you  is  infinite. 
While  you  are  in  my  eyes  lovelier  than  this  lovely 
scene,  you  also  seem  to  me  more  learned  than  the 
whole  human  race.  When  I  saw  you,  I  thought  that 
I  had  been  praying  to  God.  I  would  like — " 

"What?"  said  Seraphitus,  glancing  at  the  girl 
with  an  expression  which  disclosed  to  her  the  vast 
gulf  that  lay  between  them. 

"  I  would  like  to  suffer  in  your  stead." 

"  This  is  the  most  dangerous  of  mortal  creatures," 
said  Seraphitus  to  himself.  "  O  my  God,  can  it  be  a 
criminal  thought  to  long  to  present  her  to  thee? — 
Have  you  forgotten  already  what  I  told  you  up 
yonder?"  he  said  aloud,  addressing  the  maiden  and 
pointing  to  the  peak  of  the  Ice-Cap. 

"  Now  he  has  become  terrible  again,"  said  Minna 
to  herself,  shuddering  with  dread. 

The  voice  of  the  Sieg  accompanied  the  thoughts  of 


SERAPHITA  321 

the  three,  who  remained  for  some  moments  on  a 
jutting  platform  of  rock,  together  in  the  flesh,  but 
separated  by  fathomless  abysses  in  the  spiritual 
world. 

"Oh!  Seraphitus,  teach  me,"  said  Minna  in  a 
voice  as  silvery  as  a  pearl,  and  as  timid  as  the  move- 
ment of  sensitive  plants.  "  Teach  me  what  I  must 
do  in  order  not  to  love  you.  Who  would  not  admire 
you?  love  is  admiration  which  never  grows  weary." 

"  Poor  child!"  said  Seraphitus,  turning  pale,  "one 
can  love  only  a  single  being  in  that  way." 

"Who?"  demanded  Minna. 

"You  shall  know,"  he  replied  in  the  feeble  voice 
of  a  man  about  to  lie  down  and  die. 

"  Help!  he  is  dying!"  cried  Minna. 

Wilfrid  ran  to  them,  and,  seeing  that  strange  being 
lying  gracefully  on  a  fragment  of  gneiss,  whereon 
time  had  cast  its  cloak  of  velvet,  its  glossy  lichens, 
its  yellow  mosses  which  shone  like  satin  in  the  sun, 
he  said: 

"  She  is  very  lovely!" 

"  This  is  the  last  glance  I  shall  be  able  to  bestow 
upon  nature  in  travail,"  she  said,  summoning  all  her 
strength  to  rise. 

She  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  from  which  she 
could  embrace  the  whole  of  that  grand  and  sublime 
landscape,  but  lately  buried  beneath  a  tunic  of  snow, 
now  bedecked  with  flowers,  verdant  and  full  of  life. 

"Farewell,"  she  said,  "dear  spot,  burning  with 
love,  where  everything  rushes  ardently  from  centre 
to  extremities,  and  whose  extremities  assemble  like 

21 


322  SERAPHITA 

the  hairs  upon  a  woman's  head,  to  form  the  strange 
tress  by  which  thou  dost  attach  thyself,  in  the  in- 
visible ether,  to  the  divine  thought! 

"  Do  you  see  the  man  who,  bending  over  a  furrow 
watered  with  his  sweat,  rises  a  moment  to  question 
the  sky;  the  woman  calling  her  children  to  refresh 
them  with  her  milk;  the  sailor  handling  the  ropes  in 
the  wildest  fury  of  the  storm;  the  woman  sitting 
in  the  hollow  of  a  rock  awaiting  the  father?  do  you 
see  all  those  who  stretch  out  their  hands  after  a  life 
consumed  in  thankless  toil?  To  all,  peace  and  cour- 
age! to  all,  farewell  ! 

"Do  you  hear  the  cry  of  the  soldier  dying  un- 
known, the  outcry  of  the  man  betrayed,  weeping  in 
the  desert?  To  all,  peace  and  courage!  to  all,  fare- 
well! Farewell,  ye  who  die  for  the  kings  of  earth! 
But  farewell,  too,  ye  peoples  without  a  fatherland,  ye 
lands  without  peoples,  who  long  each  for  the  other! 
Above  all,  farewell  to  thee,  O  sublime  exile,  who 
knowest  not  where  to  rest  thy  head  !  Farewell,  dear 
innocents,  drawn  by  wild  horses  for  having  loved 
too  well !  Farewell,  ye  mothers  sitting  beside  your 
dying  sons!  Farewell,  ye  sainted  wounded  women! 
Farewell,  ye  poor!  Farewell,  ye  small  and  weak 
and  sickly,  whose  sorrows  I  have  so  often  made 
mine  own!  Farewell,  all  ye  who  wander  in  the 
sphere  of  instinct,  suffering  for  others! 

"  Farewell,  ye  navigators  who  seek  the  east 
through  the  dense  shadows  of  your  abstractions, 
vast  as  elemental  principles!  Farewell,  ye  mar- 
tyrs of  thought,  whom  thought  leads  to  the  true 


SERAPHITA  323 

light !  Farewell,  ye  studious  spheres  where  I  hear 
the  lament  of  the  insulted  genius,  the  sigh  of  the 
scholar  whose  knowledge  comes  too  late! 

"This  is  the  angelic  concert,  the  perfume-laden 
breeze,  the  incense  of  the  heart  exhaled  by  those 
who  go  about  praying,  comforting,  instilling  the 
divine  light  and  the  celestial  balm  into  depressed 
souls.  Courage,  choir  of  love!  Ye,  to  whom  the 
nations  cry:  'Comfort  us!  defend  us!'  courage  and 
farewell ! 

"  Farewell,  granite,  thou  shalt  become  a  flower; 
farewell,  flower,  thou  shalt  become  a  dove;  farewell, 
dove,  thou  shalt  be  woman;  farewell,  woman,  thou 
shalt  be  suffering;  farewell,  man,  thou  shalt  be 
faith;  farewell,  ye  who  shall  be  all  love  and  prayer!" 

Prostrated  by  fatigue,  the  mysterious  being  leaned 
for  the  first  time  upon  Wilfrid  and  Minna  to  return 
home.  Thereupon,  Wilfrid  and  Minna  felt  that  they 
were  attacked  by  a  strange  contagion.  They  had 
taken  but  a  few  steps  when  David  appeared,  weep- 
ing: 

"She  is  dying,  why  did  you  bring  her  so  far?" 
he  cried  in  the  distance. 

The  old  man,  renewing  his  youthful  strength, 
took  Seraphita  in  his  arms  and  flew  to  the  gate  of 
the  Swedish  chateau,  like  an  eagle  carrying  a  snow- 
white  lamb  to  his  eyrie. 


VI 


THE    PATH   TO   HEAVEN 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which  Seraphita 
foretold  her  own  death  and  bade  farewell  to  earth 
as  a  prisoner  looks  about  his  dungeon  before  leaving 
it  forever,  she  suffered  pains  that  compelled  her  to 
remain  in  the  state  of  absolute  rest  imposed  upon 
those  who  are  afflicted  with  the  most  grievous  ills. 
Wilfrid  and  Minna  went  to  see  her,  and  found  her 
reclining  on  her  fur-covered  divan.  Her  soul,  still 
veiled  by  the  flesh,  shone  through  that  veil,  making  it 
whiter  and  whiter  day  by  day.  The  onward  march 
of  the  spirit,  undermining  the  last  barrier  that  sepa- 
rated it  from  the  infinite,  was  called  a  disease,  the 
hour  of  true  life  was  named  death.  David  wept  to 
see  his  mistress  suffer,  refusing  to  listen  to  her  words 
of  consolation;  the  old  man  was  as  unreasonable  as 
a  child.  Monsieur  Becker  urged  Seraphita  to  take 
medicine;  but-  his  efforts  were  fruitless. 

One  morning,  she  asked  for  the  two  beings  whom 
she  had  loved,  sending  word  to  them  that  that  day  was 
the  last  of  her  bad  days.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  came 
in  deadly  alarm;  they  knew  that  they  were  about  to 
lose  her.  Seraphita  smiled  on  them  after  the  manner 
(325) 


326  SERAPHITA 

of  those  who  are  going  to  a  better  world,  she  bent 
her  head  like  a  flower  too  heavily  laden  with  dew, 
showing  its  petals  for  the  last  time  and  giving  to 
the  air  its  last  fragrance;  she  gazed  at  them  with 
a  feeling  of  melancholy  inspired  by  them,  she  no 
longer  thought  of  herself,  and  they  were  conscious 
of  it  but  were  unable  to  express  their  sorrow,  with 
which  gratitude  was  blended.  Wilfrid  stood  silent, 
motionless,  absorbed  in  one  of  those  reveries  in- 
duced by  things  whose  vast  scope  enables  us  to 
comprehend  the  existence  of  supreme  immensity 
even  on  earth.  Emboldened  by  the  weakness  of 
that  powerful  creature,  or  perhaps  by  the  fear  of 
losing  her  forever,  Minna  stooped  over  her  and 
said  : 

"  Seraphitus,  let  me  go  with  you?" 

"Can  I  for  bid  you?" 

"  Why  do  you  not  love  me  enough  to  remain?" 

"  I  could  not  love  anybody  here  on  earth." 

"  Whom  do  you  love?" 

"Heaven." 

"  Are  you  worthy  of  heaven  when  you  thus  de- 
spise God's  creatures?" 

"Minna,  can  we  love  two  persons  at  once? 
Would  your  beloved  be  your  beloved  if  he  did  not 
fill  your  heart?  Must  he  not  be  the  first,  the  last, 
the  only  one?  Does  not  she  who  is  all  love  leave  the 
world  for  her  well-beloved?  Her  entire  family  be- 
comes a  memory,  she  has  but  one  relative,  him! 
Her  heart  is  no  longer  hers,  but  his!  If  she  keeps 
in  her  heart  anything  that  is  not  his,  she  does  not 


SERAPHITA  327 

love;  no,  she  does  not  love!  Is  it  to  love  at  all,  to  love 
feebly?  The  words  of  her  well-beloved  fill  her  soul 
with  joy  and  flow  through  her  veins  in  a  purple  flood 
of  a  richer  hue  than  blood;  his  glance  is  a  light 
which  penetrates  her  being,  she  becomes  one  with 
him;  where  he  is,  there  everything  is  beautiful.  He 
warms  the  heart,  he  illumines  everything;  by  his 
side  is  it  ever  cold  or  dark?  he  is  never  absent,  he 
is  always  in  us,  we  think  in  him,  of  him,  for  him. 
That  is  how  1  love,  Minna." 

"Love  whom?"  said  Minna,  attacked  by  a  con- 
suming jealousy. 

"  God,"  replied  Seraphitus,  whose  voice  shone 
bright  in  their  souls  like  beacon-fires  glowing  from 
mountain  to  mountain.  "God,  who  never  betrays 
us!  God,  who  does  not  abandon  us  and  constantly 
fulfils  our  desires,  who  alone  can  always  slake  the 
thirst  of  His  creature  with  infinite,  unalloyed  joy! 
God,  who  is  never  weary  and  does  naught  but 
smile!  God,  who,  always  new,  casts  His  treasures 
into  the  soul,  who  purifies  and  knows  not  bitterness, 
who  is  all  harmony  and  all  flame!  God,  who  places 
Himself  within  our  hearts  to  blossom  there,  grants 
all  our  desires,  does  not  parley  with  us  when  we 
are  His,  but  gives  Himself  absolutely,  gives  us  new 
life,  amplifies  us,  multiplies  us  in  Himself!  In  fine, 
GOD!  Minna,  I  love  you  because  you  may  be  His! 
I  love  you,  because,  if  you  come  to  Him,  you  will 
be  mine." 

"  Then  lead  me,"  she  replied,  kneeling.  "  Take 
my  hand,  I  will  never  leave  you." 


328  SERAPHITA 

"  Lead  us,  Seraphita!"  cried  Wilfrid,  kneeling  im- 
petuously at  Minna's  side.  "  Yes,  you  have  made 
me  thirsty  for  the  light  and  thirsty  for  the  Word ; 
I  am  parched  with  the  love  you  have  planted  in 
my  heart,  I  will  preserve  your  soul  in  mine;  let 
me  know  your  will,  I  will  do  what  you  bid  me  do. 
If  I  cannot  obtain  you,  I  wish  to  retain  all  the  senti- 
ments which  you  may  communicate  to  me!  If  I  can 
bind  myself  to  you  only  by  my  unaided  strength,  I 
will  cling  to  you  as  the  fire  clings  to  what  it  con- 
sumes. Speak!" 

"Angel !"  cried  the  incomprehensible  creature,  en- 
veloping them  both  in  a  glance  which  was  like  a 
cloak  of  azure, — "  Angel,  heaven  shall  be  thy  heri- 
tage!" 

A  long  silence  followed  that  exclamation,  which 
echoed  in  Wilfrid's  soul  and  Minna's  like  the  first 
strain  of  some  celestial  melody. 

"  If  you  would  accustom  your  feet  to  walk  in  the 
path  that  leads  to  heaven,  understand  that  its  early 
stages  are  hard,"  said  that  suffering  soul.  "God 
wishes  to  be  sought  for  Himself.  In  that  sense  He 
is  jealous,  He  wishes  you  to  be  absolutely  His;  but, 
when  you  have  given  yourself  to  Him,  He  never 
abandons  you.  I  purpose  to  leave  with  you  the 
keys  of  the  kingdom  where  His  light  shines,  where 
you  will  be  always  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  in 
the  heart  of  the  Bridegroom.  No  sentinel  guards 
the  approaches,  you  can  enter  at  any  point;  His 
palace,  His  treasures,  His  sceptre,  nothing  is 
guarded;  He  has  said  to  all:  'Take  them!'  But 


SERAPHITA  329 

one  must  feel  the  desire  to  go  thither.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  leave  one's  home  as  if  for  a  journey,  to  re- 
nounce one's  plans,  to  bid  farewell  to  one's  friends, 
one's  father,  mother,  sister,  and  even  to  the  smallest 
brother  who  cries  aloud,  to  bid  them  all  farewell  for- 
ever, for  you  will  no  more  return  than  the  martyrs 
who  set  out  for  the  stake  returned  to  their  firesides; 
in  a  word,  you  must  cut  loose  from  the  sentiments 
and  objects  to  which  men  cling;  otherwise  you  would 
not  be  wholly  devoted  to  your  enterprise.  Do  for 
God  what  you  would  do  for  your  own  ambitious 
designs,  what  you  do  when  you  devote  yourself  to 
an  art,  what  you  did  when  you  loved  a  mortal  more 
dearly  than  Him,  or  when  you  were  in  pursuit  of 
some  secret  of  human  science.  Is  not  God  science 
itself,  love  itself,  the  source  of  all  poesy?  May  not 
His  treasure  arouse  cupidity?  His  treasure  is  inex- 
haustible, His  poesy  is  infinite,  His  love  is  immu- 
table, His  knowledge  is  infallible  and  free  from 
mystery!  Cling  to  nothing,  therefore,  He  will  give 
you  everything.  Yes,  you  will  find  in  His  heart 
treasures  incomparably  greater  than  the  earthly  treas- 
ures you  may  have  lost.  This  that  I  tell  you  is  cer- 
tain :  you  will  have  His  power,  you  will  use  it  as 
you  use  what  belongs  to  your  lover  or  your  mis- 
tress. Alas!  the  majority  of  men  doubt,  lack  faith, 
will,  perseverance.  Although  some  may  set  out, 
they  at  once  begin  to  look  behind  them  and  retrace 
their  steps.  Few  mortals  know  how  to  choose  be- 
tween those  two  extremes:  to  remain  or  to  go,  the 
mire  or  heaven.  Everyone  hesitates.  Weakness 


330  SERAPHITA 

is  the  beginning  of  going  astray,  passion  leads  man 
into  the  crooked  path;  vice,  which  is  a  habit,  bemires 
him  there,  and  he  makes  no  progress  toward  the 
better  state. 

"All  beings  live  a  first  life  in  the  sphere  of  instinct, 
where  they  labor  to  discover  the  emptiness  of  earthly 
treasures  after  having  taken  the  utmost  pains  to 
amass  them.  How  many  times  does  one  live  in  this 
first  world  before  leaving  it  prepared  to  submit  to 
other  tests  in  the  sphere  of  abstractions  where  the 
thought  expends  its  energy  in  false  sciences,  where 
the  spirit  grows  weary  at  last  of  human  speech; 
for  when  matter  is  exhausted,  then  comes  spirit. 
Through  how  many  forms  has  the  being  promised  to 
heaven  passed  before  arriving  at  an  understanding 
of  the  price  of  the  silence  and  solitude  whose  star- 
studded  plains  are  the  courtyard  of  the  spiritual 
worlds!  His  eyes,  after  a  sad  experience  of  the 
void  and  nothingness,  turn  to  the  straight  path. 
Then  there  are  other  lives  to  be  lived  in  order  to 
reach  the  path  where  the  light  shines.  Death  is  the 
relay-house  of  that  journey.  Then  one's  experi- 
ences tend  in  the  other  direction;  it  often  requires  a 
whole  lifetime  to  acquire  the  virtues  which  are  the 
opposite  of  the  errors  in  which  man  has  previously 
lived.  Thus,  first  of  all  comes  the  life  wherein  one 
suffers,  and  whose  tortures  arouse  a  thirst  for  love. 
Then  there  is  the  life  wherein  one  loves,  wherein 
devotion  to  the  creature  teaches  devotion  to  the 
Creator,  wherein  the  virtues  of  love,  its  countless 
martyrdoms,  its  angelic  hope,  its  joys  followed  by 


SERAPHITA  331 

sorrow,  its  patience,  its  resignation,  excite  the  appe- 
tite for  things  divine.  Then  comes  the  life  wherein 
one  seeks  in  the  silence  the  traces  of  the  Word, 
wherein  one  becomes  humble  and  charitable.  Then 
the  life  wherein  one  desires.  Lastly,  the  life  wherein 
one  prays.  There  is  the  everlasting  South,  there 
are  the  flowers,  there  is  the  harvest!  The  acquired 
qualities,  which  develop  slowly  within  us,  are  the 
invisible  bonds  which  bind  our  existences  together, 
each  to  all  the  others,  and  which  the  soul  alone 
remembers,  for  matter  can  recall  nothing  that  is 
spiritual.  The  mind  alone  retains  the  tradition  of 
what  has  gone  before.  That  perpetual  legacy  of  the 
past  to  the  present  and  the  present  to  the  future  is 
the  secret  of  human  geniuses  :  some  have  the  gift 
of  form,  others  the  gift  of  number,  others  the  gift  of 
harmony.  They  are  successive  steps  in  the  path- 
way of  light.  Yes,  the  man  who  possesses  one  of 
those  gifts  touches  the  infinite  at  one  point.  The 
Word,  of  which  I  here  reveal  a  few  words  to  you, 
that  Word  the  earth  has  divided  and  subdivided,  has 
ground  to  dust,  and  sown  in  her  works,  her  doctrines, 
her  poems.  If  some  impalpable  particle  of  it  glistens 
upon  a  work,  you  say  :  '  That  is  great,  that  is  true, 
that  is  sublime!'  That  trivial  thing  vibrates  within 
you  and  assails  the  presentiment  of  heaven.  To 
some,  disease  which  separates  us  from  the  world; 
to  others,  solitude  which  brings  us  nearer  God;  to 
another,  poetry — in  a  word,  whatever  turns  you 
back  upon  yourselves,  smites  you  and  crushes  you, 
exalts  or  degrades  you,  is  an  echo  of  the  divine 


332  SERAPHITA 

world.  When  a  human  being  has  drawn  his  first 
furrow  straight,  that  suffices  to  assure  the  straight- 
ness  of  the  others;  a  single  thought  deeply  meditated, 
a  single  voice  heard,  a  bitter  pang,  a  single  echo 
awakened  by  the  Word  within  you,  may  transform 
your  soul  forever. 

"Everything  leads  to  God;  therefore  there  are 
many  opportunities  to  find  Him  by  walking  straight 
before  Him.  When  the  blessed  day  arrives  on  which 
you  set  your  feet  upon  the  path  and  begin  your 
pilgrimage,  the  earth  will  know  nothing  of  it;  it  no 
longer  understands  you,  you  no  longer  understand 
each  other,  the  earth  is  you.  Men  who  attain  a 
knowledge  of  these  things,  and  who  utter  a  few  frag- 
ments of  the  true  Word,  find  no  place  to  rest  their 
heads;  they  are  hunted  like  wild  beasts,  and  fre- 
quently perish  on  the  scaffold  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
assembled  populace,  while  the  angels  are  opening 
the  gates  of  heaven  to  them.  Your  destination,  there- 
fore, will  be  a  secret  between  you  and  God,  as  love 
is  a  secret  between  two  hearts.  You  will  be  the 
buried  treasure  over  which  men  hurrying  for  gold 
pass  to  and  fro,  not  knowing  that  you  are  there. 
Thereupon,  your  existence  becomes  full  of  ceaseless 
activity,  each  of  your  acts  has  a  meaning  which  bears 
some  relation  to  God,  just  as  in  love  your  acts  and 
your  thoughts  are  full  of  the  loved  one;  but  love 
with  its  joys,  love  with  its  pleasures,  limited  by  the 
senses,  is  an  imperfect  image  of  the  infinite  love  that 
unites  you  to  the  celestial  lover.  All  earthly  joy  is 
followed  by  sorrow,  by  discontent;  if  love  is  to  be 


SERAPHITA  333 

unmarred  by  satiety,  death  must  end  it  when  it  is 
most  intense,  and  then  you  know  nothing  of  its 
ashes;  but  on  high  God  transforms  our  misery  to 
ecstasy,  joy  multiplies  by  itself,  it  grows  ever  greater 
and  knows  no  bounds.  So,  in  the  earthly  life, 
ephemeral  love  is  brought  to  an  end  by  constant 
tribulations;  whereas,  in  the  spiritual  life,  the  tribu- 
lations of  a  day  are  brought  to  an  end  by  infinite 
joy.  Your  soul  ceaselessly  overflows  with  joy.  You 
feel  that  God  is  near  you,  in  you;  He  gives  to  all 
things  a  savor  of  holiness,  He  shines  in  your  soul,  He 
stamps  you  with  His  gentleness,  He  destroys  your 
interest  in  the  world  for  your  own  sake,  and  arouses 
your  interest  in  it  for  His  sake,  giving  you  His  power 
to  wield.  You  do  in  His  name  the  works  which 
He  inspires;  you  wipe  away  tears,  you  act  for  Him, 
you  no  longer  have  anything  of  your  own,  like 
Him,  you  love  all  creatures  with  unquenchable  love; 
you  would  like  them  all  to  be  moving  toward  Him, 
as  a  truly  loving  woman  would  like  all  the  nations 
on  earth  to  obey  her  well-beloved. 

"  The  last  life,  which  is  the  summing-up  of  all  the 
others,  wherein  all  the  powers  are  put  forth  and 
whose  meritorious  deeds  are  destined  to  open  the 
sacred  portal  to  the  perfect  being,  is  the  life  of 
prayer.  Who  can  make  you  comprehend  the  gran- 
deur, the  majesty,  the  might  of  prayer?  May  my 
voice  find  an  echo  in  your  hearts  and  change  them! 
Be  instantly  what  you  will  be  after  you  have  under- 
gone the  tests!  There  have  been  privileged  creatures, 
prophets,  seers,  messengers  of  God,  martyrs,  all  those 


334  SERAPHITA 

who  have  suffered  for  the  Word  or  proclaimed  it;  the 
souls  of  such  men  pass  through  the  human  spheres 
at  a  bound,  and  rise  at  once  to  prayer.  So,  too,  with 
those  who  are  devoured  by  the  fire  of  faith.  Be 
of  the  number  of  those  brave  souls.  God  suffers 
temerity,  He  loves  to  be  taken  by  force,  He  never 
repels  him  who  can  find  his  way  to  Him.  Be  sure 
that  desire,  that  torrent  of  your  will,  is  so  powerful 
in  man,  that  a  single  tiny  stream  therefrom,  emitted 
with  force,  may  obtain  everything,  a  single  cry  is 
often  enough  under  the  pressure  of  faith.  Be  of 
those  beings,  filled  with  force  and  will  and  love!  Be 
of  the  victorious  ones  of  earth!  May  the  hunger 
and  thirst  for  God  seize  upon  you!  Run  to  Him  as 
the  thirsty  stag  runs  to  the  fountain;  desire  will 
provide  you  with  its  wings;  tears,  those  flowers  of 
repentance,  will  be  like  a  celestial  baptism  from 
which  your  natures  will  come  forth  purified.  Rise 
from  the  bosom  of  these  waves  to  prayer.  Silence 
and  meditation  are  the  efficient  means  to  lead  men 
to  that  path.  God  always  makes  Himself  mani- 
fest to  the  solitary,  meditative  man.  Thus  will  be 
brought  to  pass  the  necessary  separation  between 
the  matter  which  has  so  long  encompassed  you  in 
its  darkness,  and  the  spirit  which  is  born  in  you  and 
illumines  you,  for  then  it  will  shine  with  a  clear 
light  in  your  souls.  Then  your  broken  hearts  will 
receive  the  light,  will  be  inundated  with  it.  You 
will  no  longer  feel  mere  convictions  but  glorious  cer- 
tainties. The  poet  expresses  his  thoughts,  the  wise 
man  meditates,  the  just  man  acts;  but  he  who  takes 


SERAPHITA  335 

his  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  divine  world,  prays; 
and  his  prayer  is  speech,  thought,  action,  all  in  one! 
Yes,  his  prayer  comprises  everything,  it  contains 
everything,  it  perfects  your  natures  by  discovering 
the  spirit  and  its  progress  within  you.  O  fair  and 
luminous  daughter  of  all  the  human  virtues,  ark  of 
the  covenant  between  heaven  and  earth,  sweet 
creature,  in  whom  the  lion  and  the  dove  are  united, 
prayer  will  give  you  the  key  of  heaven!  Bold  and 
pure  as  innocence,  strong  like  all  that  is  single 
and  simple,  this  lovely,  unconquerable  queen  rests 
upon  the  material  world,  she  has  taken  possession 
of  it ;  for,  like  the  sun,  she  encompasses  it  with  a 
circle  of  light.  The  universe  belongs  to  him  who 
wills,  to  him  who  knows,  to  him  who  can  pray;  but 
he  must  will  and  know  and  be  able,  in  a  word,  pos- 
sess strength,  wisdom,  and  faith.  Thus  the  prayer 
that  results  from  so  many  tests  is  the  consummation 
of  all  truths,  of  all  powers,  of  all  sentiments.  Fruit  of 
the  laborious,  progressive,  constant  development  of 
all  the  natural  properties  quickened  by  the  divine 
breath  of  the  Word,  it  possesses  a  seductive  activity, 
it  is  the  supreme  worship:  not  the  material  worship 
of  images,  nor  the  spiritual  worship  of  formulas,  but 
the  worship  of  the  divine  world.  We  no  longer 
utter  prayers,  prayer  kindles  within  us,  it  is  a  fac- 
ulty which  works  by  itself ;  it  has  acquired  that 
property  of  activity  which  raises  it  above  mere 
forms  :  it  binds  the  soul  to  God,  with  whom  you 
unite  as  the  roots  of  trees  unite  with  the  earth; 
your  veins  draw  their  supplies  from  the  principles 


336  SERAPHITA 

of  things,  and  you  live  the  life  of  the  worlds  them- 
selves. Prayer  imparts  external  conviction  by  en- 
abling you  to  penetrate  the  material  world  by  virtue 
of  the  cohesion  of  all  your  faculties  with  elementary 
substances;  it  imparts  internal  conviction  by  devel- 
oping your  essence  and  blending  it  with  that  of  the 
spiritual  worlds. 

"In  order  to  command  prayer  of  this  sort,  you 
must  cast  aside  the  flesh,  acquire  the  purity  of  the 
diamond  in  the  heat  of  the  crucible,  for  this  complete 
communication  is  attained  only  by  absolute  repose, 
by  allaying  all  tempests.  Yes,  prayer,  the  veritable 
aspiration  of  the  soul  when  wholly  separated  from 
the  body,  seizes  upon  all  the  forces  and  applies  them 
to  the  constant  and  persistent  union  of  the  visible 
and  the  invisible.  Possessing  the  faculty  of  praying 
without  weariness,  with  love,  with  force,  with  con- 
viction, with  intelligence,  your  spiritualized  nature  is 
soon  endowed  with  power.  Like  a  violent  wind,  or 
like  the  lightning,  it  traverses  everything  and  shares 
the  power  of  God.  You  have  the  quickness  of  mo- 
tion of  the  spirit ;  in  an  instant  you  may  be  present 
in  any  country;  you  are  transported,  like  the  Word 
itself,  from  one  end  of  the  world  to  the  other.  There 
is  harmony,  and  you  contribute  to  it ;  there  is  a 
light,  and  you  see  it ;  there  is  a  melody,  and  its 
accords  find  an  echo  within  you.  In  that  state,  you 
will  feel  your  intellect  broaden  and  expand,  and  its 
insight  reach  to  immense  distances;  in  truth  the 
spirit  knows  neither  time  nor  space.  Space  and 
time  are  proportions  created  for  matter;  spirit  and 


SERAPHITA  337 

matter  have  nothing  in  common.  Although  these 
processes  are  accomplished  calmly  and  silently, 
without  disturbance,  without  exterior  movement, 
nevertheless,  in  prayer  all  is  action,  but  earnest 
action,  devoid  of  all  substantiality,  and  reduced,  like 
the  motion  of  the  worlds  in  space,  to  an  invisible, 
pure  force.  It  descends  everywhere  like  the  light, 
and  gives  life  to  souls  which  happen  to  be  beneath 
its  rays,  as  nature  is  beneath  the  sun.  It  revivifies 
virtue  everywhere,  purifies  and  sanctifies  every  act, 
peoples  the  solitude,  affords  a  foretaste  of  everlast- 
ing bliss.  When  you  have  once  known  the  ecstasy 
of  divine  intoxication  engendered  by  your  inward 
labors,  then  all  is  said  !  when  you  once  hold  the 
lyre  whereon  men  hymn  to  God,  you  will  never  lay 
it  down.  Hence  the  solitude  in  which  the  angelic 
spirits  live,  and  their  disdain  for  the  things  that 
afford  joy  to  mortals.  I  say  to  you,  they  are 
stricken  from  the  number  of  those  who  are  to  die; 
if  they  hear  their  language,  they  no  longer  under- 
stand their  ideas;  they  are  amazed  at  their  move- 
ments, at  what  is  called  politics,  at  their  physical 
and  social  laws;  for  them  mysteries  no  longer  exist, 
they  know  naught  but  truths. 

"  They  who  have  reached  the  point  at  which  their 
eyes  discern  the  blessed  portal,  and  who,  without  a 
single  backward  glance,  without  a  single  regret,  con- 
template the  worlds  and  penetrate  their  destinies — 
they  hold  their  peace,  wait,  and  endure  their  final 
trials;  the  most  difficult  is  the  last,  the  supreme 
virtue  is  resignation:  to  be  in  exile  and  to  utter  no 

22 


338  SERAPHITA 

complaint,  to  have  lost  all  taste  for  the  things  of  earth 
and  to  smile,  to  belong  to  God  and  to  remain  among 
men!  Plainly  you  hear  the  voice  crying:  '  Onward  ! 
onward  !'  Often  in  celestial  visions  angels  descend 
and  envelop  you  with  their  singing.  Without  a  tear 
or  a  murmur  you  must  watch  them  flying  back  to  the 
hive.  To  complain  would  be  to  fall.  Resignation  is 
the  fruit  that  ripens  at  the  gate  of  heaven.  How 
noble  and  lovely  are  the  calm  smile  and  untroubled 
brow  of  the  resigned  one  !  Radiant  is  the  light  that 
adorns  her  forehead  !  Whoever  breathes  the  same 
air  with  her  becomes  a  better  man !  Her  glance  is 
penetrating  and  moves  the  heart.  More  eloquent  in 
her  silence  than  the  prophet  in  his  speech,  she  tri- 
umphs by  her  presence  alone.  She  pricks  up  her 
ear  like  the  faithful  dog  awaiting  his  master's  coming. 
Stronger  than  love,  more  ardent  than  hope,  greater 
than  faith,  she  is  the  adorable  maiden  who  lies  there 
on  the  ground,  guarding  for  a  moment  the  palm  she 
has  won,  and  leaving  there  the  imprint  of  her  pure, 
white  feet;  and,  when  she  is  no  longer  there,  men 
throng  to  the  spot,  and  say:  'Look!'  God  keeps 
her  as  a  figure  at  whose  feet  the  forms  and  species 
of  animality  crouch  to  seek  their  path.  At  inter- 
vals, she  scatters  the  light  that  streams  from  her 
hair,  and  men  see;  she  speaks,  and  men  hear,  and 
all  say  to  one  another:  'A  miracle!'  Often  she 
triumphs  in  the  name  of  God;  terrified  men  deny  her 
and  put  her  to  death;  she  sheathes  her  sword  and 
goes  smiling  to  the  stake,  after  saving  nations.  How 
many  pardoned  angels  have  passed  from  martyrdom 


SERAPHITA  339 

to  heaven!  Sinai,  Golgotha,  are  neither  in  this  place 
nor  in  that;  the  angel  is  crucified  in  all  places,  in  all 
spheres.  Sighs  reach  God's  ears  from  every  side. 
The  earth  on  which  we  are  is  one  of  the  ears  of  the 
harvest,  mankind  is  one  of  the  species  planted  in 
the  vast  field  in  which  the  flowers  of  heaven  are  cul- 
tivated. In  fine,  God  is  everywhere  the  same,  and, 
by  prayer,  it  is  easy  to  reach  Him." 

With  these  words,  which  fell  as  from  the  lips  of 
another  Hagar  in  the  desert,  but  which,  upon  reach- 
ing the  soul,  stirred  it  to  its  depths  like  arrows  dis- 
charged by  the  burning  words  of  Isaiah,  the  strange 
being  paused  abruptly  to  collect  her  last  remaining 
strength.  Neither  Wilfrid  nor  Minna  dared  to  speak. 
Suddenly  HE  drew  himself  up  to  die. 

"  O  my  God,  thou  soul  of  all  things,  whom  I  love 
for  Thyself  !  Judge  and  Father,  measure  an  ardent 
love  which  has  no  measure  save  Thine  infinite  loving- 
kindness!  Lend  me  Thine  essence  and  Thy  faculties 
that  I  may  be  more  wholly  Thine!  Take  me  that  I 
may  no  longer  be  myself.  If  I  be  not  sufficiently 
pure,  plunge  me  anew  in  the  fiery  furnace!  If  I  be 
not  of  true  metal,  then  make  of  me  a  nourishing 
ploughshare  or  a  triumphant  sword  !  Vouchsafe  me 
some  glorious  martyrdom  wherein  I  may  proclaim 
thy  Word  !  Reject  my  prayer,  still  will  I  bless  Thy 
justness.  If  excess  of  love  obtains  in  an  instant  that 
which  is  denied  to  patient,  wearing  toil,  bear  me 
away  upon  Thy  chariot  of  fire!  Whether  Thou  dost 
grant  me  the  triumph  or  condemn  me  to  fresh  sor- 
rows, blessed  be  Thy  name!  But  to  suffer  for  Thee — 


340  SERAPHITA 

is  not  that,  too,  a  triumph?  Take,  seize,  ravish, 
carry  me  away!  Reject  me,  if  Thou  wilt!  Thou 
art  the  Adored  One,  who  can  do  nothing  ill. — Ah!" 
he  exclaimed,  after  a  pause,  "the  bonds  are  break- 
ing. Spotless  spirits,  sanctified  flock,  come  forth 
from  the  abysses,  fly  over  the  surface  of  the  waves 
of  light!  The  hour  has  struck,  come,  assemble! 
Let  us  sing  at  the  doors  of  the  sanctuary,  our  sing- 
ing will  drive  away  the  last-remaining  clouds.  Let 
us  unite  our  voices  to  hail  the  dawn  of  the  day  that 
knows  no  end.  Behold  the  breaking  of  the  true 
light !  Why  may  I  not  take  my  friends?  Farewell, 
poor  earth,  farewell !" 


VII 


THE  ASSUMPTION 

These  last  invocations  were  expressed  neither  by 
word,  nor  by  glance,  nor  by  gesture,  nor  by  any 
of  the  signs  which  men  use  to  communicate  their 
thoughts,  but  as  the  soul  speaks  to  itself;  for,  when 
Seraphita  exhibited  herself  in  her  real  nature,  on  the 
instant,  her  ideas  ceased  to  be  the  slaves  of  human 
words.  The  vehemence  of  her  last  prayer  had 
broken  the  bonds.  Like  a  white  dove,  her  soul 
remained  for  a  moment  perched  upon  that  body 
whose  exhausted  substance  was  on  the  verge  of 
annihilation. 

The  aspiration  of  the  soul  heavenward  was  so  con- 
tagious that  Wilfrid  and  Minna  did  not  discern  death, 
so  engrossed  were  they  by  the  radiant  sparks  of  life. 

They  had  fallen  on  their  knees  when  he  drew  him- 
self up  to  turn  toward  his  East,  and  they  shared  his 
ecstasy. 

The  fear  of  the  Lord,  which  creates  man  anew 
and  cleanses  him  of  his  filth,  had  consumed  their 
hearts. 

Their  eyes  were  blind  to  earthly  things,  and  were 
opened  to  the  bright  light  from  heaven. 
(34i) 


342  SERAPHITA 

Although  trembling  with  awe  at  the  thought  of 
God,  like  some  of  those  seers  whom  men  call 
prophets,  they  held  their  ground  like  them  when 
they  found  themselves  within  the  ray,  wherein  the 
glory  of  the  SPIRIT  shone. 

The  veil  of  flesh  which  had  hidden  it  from  them 
hitherto,  insensibly  faded  away  and  allowed  them  to 
see  the  divine  substance. 

They  remained  in  the  half-light  of  the  breaking 
day  whose  feeble  gleams  prepared  them  to  see  the 
True  Light,  to  hear  the  Living  Word,  and  still  to  live. 

In  that  state,  both  of  them  began  to  realize  the 
immeasurable  distance  that  separates  the  things  of 
earth  from  the  things  of  heaven. 

LIFE,  on  whose  brink  they  stood,  pressing  close 
to  each  other,  trembling  and  illuminated,  as  two 
children  stand  in  a  sheltered  spot,  in  the  full  glare 
of  a  conflagration, — life  offered  no  attraction  to  the 
senses. 

The  ideas  which  they  made  use  of  to  describe 
their  vision  to  each  other  were  to  the  things  they 
saw  what  man's  external  senses  may  be  to  his  soul, 
the  material  envelope  of  a  divine  essence. 

The  SPIRIT  was  above  them,  he  perfumed  the  air 
without  odor,  he  was  melodious  without  the  aid 
of  sounds;  where  they  were,  were  neither  surfaces 
nor  angles  nor  air. 

They  dared  no  longer  question  him  or  gaze  upon 
him,  and  remained  in  his  shadow  as  one  stands  in 
the  burning  rays  of  a  tropical  sun,  fearing  to  raise 
one's  eyes  lest  the  sight  be  destroyed. 


SERAPHITA  343 

They  knew  that  they  were  near  him,  but  could 
not  explain  by  what  chance  they  were  seated  there, 
as  if  in  a  dream,  on  the  frontier  between  the  visible 
and  the  invisible,  nor  how  it  was  that  they  could 
no  longer  see  the  visible  but  were  able  to  see  the 
invisible. 

They  said  to  themselves:  "If  he  touches  us,  we 
shall  die!"  But  the  SPIRIT  was  in  the  Infinite,  and 
they  knew  not  that  neither  time  nor  space  exists 
in  the  Infinite,  that  they  were  separated  from  him 
by  impassable  chasms,  although  apparently  he  was 
close  at  hand. 

Their  souls  not  being  ready  to  receive  in  its  en- 
tirety the  knowledge  of  the  faculties  of  that  life, 
they  had  only  confused  perceptions  of  it,  appro- 
priate to  their  weakness. 

Had  it  been  otherwise,  when  the  Living  Word 
came,  whose  far-off  sounds  rang  in  their  ears  and 
whose  meaning  entered  their  soul  as  life  is  knit  to 
the  body,  a  single  whisper  of  that  Word  would  have 
absorbed  them  as  a  whirlwind  of  fire  sweeps  up  a 
slender  straw. 

They  saw,  therefore,  only  what  their  nature,  sus- 
tained by  the  power  of  the  Spirit,  permitted  them 
to  see;  they  heard  only  that  which  they  could  safely 
hear. 

Despite  those  limitations,  they  shuddered  when 
the  voice  of  the  suffering  soul  rang  out,  the  hymn  of 
the  SPIRIT,  awaiting  life  and  imploring  it  with  a  cry. 

That  cry  froze  them  to  the  very  marrow  of  their 
bones. 


344  SERAPHITA 

The  SPIRIT  knocked  at  the  SACRED  PORTAL. 

"What  dost  thou  wish?"  answered  a  CHOIR, 
whose  question  echoed  through  space. 

"To  go  to  God." 

"Hast  thou  conquered?" 

"  I  have  conquered  the  flesh  by  abstinence,  I 
have  conquered  the  false  word  by  silence,  I  have 
conquered  false  knowledge  by  humility,  I  have  con- 
quered pride  by  charity,  I  have  conquered  the  earth 
by  love,  I  have  paid  my  tribute  by  suffering,  I  have 
purified  myself  in  the  fire  of  faith,  I  have  longed 
for  life  by  prayer:  I  wait  in  adoration,  and  I  am 
resigned." 

No  reply  was  heard. 

"  Blessed  be  God!"  exclaimed  the  SPIRIT,  believ- 
ing that  he  was  to  be  cast  out. 

Tears  flowed  from  his  eyes  and  fell  like  a  shower 
of  dew  on  the  two  kneeling  witnesses,  who  shud- 
dered before  the  justice  of  God. 

Suddenly  the  trumpets  rang  out  for  the  victory 
won  by  the  ANGEL  in  that  last  test,  the  triumphant 
strains  rolled  through  space  like  an  echo,  filled  it 
and  shook  the  universe,  which  Wilfrid  and  Minna 
felt  to  be  small  beneath  their  feet.  They  trembled, 
suffering  agony  in  their  apprehension  of  the  mystery 
about  to  be  performed. 

In  truth,  a  great  commotion  took  place  as  if  the 
eternal  legions  were  putting  themselves  in  motion, 
arranged  in  spiral  columns.  The  worlds  flew  round 
and  round  like  clouds  whirled  away  by  a  fierce  wind. 
It  was  very  rapid. 


SERAPHITA  345 

Suddenly  the  veils  were  torn  aside,  they  saw  on 
high  something  like  a  star, — incomparably  more  bril- 
liant than  the  brightest  of  material  stars, — which 
left  its  place,  descended  like  a  thunderbolt,  still 
gleaming  like  the  lightning-flash,  and  caused  what 
they  had  hitherto  taken  for  the  LIGHT  to  grow  pale. 

It  was  the  messenger  who  brought  the  glad 
tidings,  and  whose  helmet  bore  a  flame  of  life  for 
a  plume. 

He  left  in  his  wake  furrows  which  were  instantly 
filled  by  the  flood  of  individual  rays  through  which 
he  passed. 

He  bore  a  palm-branch  and  a  sword,  he  touched 
the  SPIRIT  with  the  palm.  The  SPIRIT  was  trans- 
figured, his  white  wings  unfolded  noiselessly. 

The  communication  of  the  LIGHT  which  trans- 
formed the  SPIRIT  into  a  SERAPH,  the  putting  on  of 
his  glorious  form,  a  celestial  armor,  were  accom- 
panied by  such  dazzling  rays  that  the  two  witnesses 
were  paralyzed. 

Like  the  three  apostles  to  whom  Jesus  appeared, 
Wilfrid  and  Minna  felt  that  the  weight  of  their  bodies 
forbade  a  complete  and  cloudless  intuition  of  the 
WORD  and  the  TRUE  LIFE. 

They  realized  the  bareness  of  their  souls  and 
could  measure  the  insignificance  of  their  light  by 
comparing  it  with  the  halo  of  the  seraph  in  which 
they  found  themselves  involved  like  a  degrading 
blot  upon  its  splendor. 

They  were  seized  with  an  ardent  desire  to  plunge 
once  more  into  the  mire  of  the  earth  to  undergo  the 


346  SERAPHITA 

necessary  trials  there,  in  order  that  they  might  some 
day  offer  triumphantly  at  the  SACRED  PORTAL  the 
words  uttered  by  the  radiant  seraph. 

That  angel  knelt  before  the  SANCTUARY  which  he 
was  able  at  last  to  behold,  face  to  face,  and  said, 
indicating  them: 

"  Permit  them  to  see  more.  They  love  the  Lord 
and  will  proclaim  his  Word." 

In  response  to  that  prayer  a  veil  fell.  Whether 
the  unknown  force  which  weighed  upon  the  wit- 
nesses momentarily  blotted  out  their  corporeal 
forms,  or  caused  their  spirits  to  rise  above  and 
without  them,  certain  it  is  that  they  felt  inwardly 
something  like  a  separation  of  the  pure  from  the 
impure. 

The  seraph's  tears  rose  about  them  in  the  shape 
of  a  vapor  which  concealed  the  lower  worlds  from 
them,  enveloped  them,  bore  them  on,  caused  them 
to  forget  all  earthly  meanings,  and  gave  them  the 
power  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  divine  things. 

The  True  Light  appeared,  it  illumined  all  creation, 
which  seemed  a  barren  waste  to  them  when  they 
saw  the  spring  from  which  the  terrestrial,  spiritual, 
and  divine  worlds  derive  motion. 

Each  world  had  a  centre  to  which  all  points  upon 
its  surface  converged.  The  worlds  themselves  were 
points  converging  to  the  centre  of  their  systems. 
Each  system  had  its  centre  in  the  direction  of  vast 
celestial  regions  which  communicated  with  the  flam- 
ing inexhaustible  motive  power  of  all  that  is. 

Thus,  from  the  greatest  to  the  smallest  worlds, 


SERAPHITA  347 

and  from  the  smallest  of  worlds  to  the  smallest  frac- 
tion of  the  beings  who  composed  it,  everything  had 
its  own  individuality,  and  yet  all  were  one. 

What  was  the  design  of  that  Being,  unchangeable 
in  His  essence  and  His  attributes,  who  transmitted 
them  without  losing  them,  who  manifested  them 
outside  of  Himself  without  separating  from  them, 
who  rendered  all  those  creations  outside  of  Himself 
immutable  in  their  essence  and  mutable  in  their 
forms?  The  two  guests  summoned  to  that  festival 
could  see  only  the  order  and  arrangement  of  beings 
and  admire  only  the  immediate  end.  None  but  the 
angels  could  go  beyond,  become  acquainted  with  the 
means,  and  understand  the  final  end. 

But  that  which  those  two  elect  were  allowed  to  con- 
template, that  of  which  they  brought  back  testimony 
that  illumined  their  souls  forever,  was  the  proof  of 
the  action  of  worlds  and  beings,  the  knowledge  of  the 
efforts  which  they  put  forth  to  attain  the  result. 

They  heard  the  different  parts  of  the  Infinite  com- 
posing one  living  melody;  and  each  time  that  the 
melody  made  itself  felt  like  a  mighty  respiration, 
the  worlds,  impelled  by  that  unanimous  movement, 
inclined  toward  the  gigantic  Being  who,  from  His 
impenetrable  centre,  sent  everything  forth  and  drew 
everything  back  to  Him. 

This  incessant  alternation  of  voices  and  silence 
seemed  to  be  the  measure  of  the  sacred  hymn  which 
resounded  and  was  prolonged  in  secula  seculorum. 

Thereupon  Wilfrid  and  Minna  understood  some  of 
the  mysterious  words  of  the  being  who  had  appeared 


348  SERAPHITA 

to  each  of  them  on  earth  in  the  form  that  made  him 
comprehensible  to  that  one,  to  Minna  Seraphitus,  to 
Wilfrid  Seraphita,  when  they  saw  that  everything 
there  was  homogeneous. 

Light  gave  birth  to  melody,  melody  gave  birth 
to  light,  colors  were  light  and  melody,  motion  was 
number  endowed  with  speech;  in  a  word,  everything 
was  resonant,  diaphanous,  and  mobile;  so  that  as 
each  thing  penetrated  every  other  thing,  the  vast 
expanse  was  unobstructed,  and  the  angels  could 
fly  whithersoever  they  would  in  the  depths  of  the 
Infinite. 

They  realized  the  puerility  of  the  human  sciences 
concerning  which  he  had  spoken  to  them. 

It  was  to  their  eyes  a  landscape  with  no  horizon 
line,  an  abyss  into  which  a  consuming  desire  forced 
them  to  plunge;  but,  fast  bound  to  their  wretched 
bodies,  they  had  the  desire  without  the  power. 

The  seraph  lightly  spread  his  wings  to  take  his 
flight,  and  no  longer  turned  his  face  toward  them: 
he  had  nothing  more  in  common  with  the  earth. 

He  flew  upward:  the  vast  spread  of  his  gleaming 
plumage  covered  the  two  seers  as  with  a  kindly 
shadow,  which  enabled  them  to  raise  their  eyes  and 
see  him  borne  away  in  his  glory,  attended  by  the 
joyous  archangel. 

He  ascended  like  a  radiant  sun  coming  forth  from 
the  bosom  of  the  waves;  but,  more  majestic  than  the 
planet,  and  reserved  for  a  nobler  destiny,  he  was  not 
to  be  confined,  like  creatures  of  inferior  mould,  to  a 
circular  life;  he  followed  the  line  of  the  Infinite,  and 


SERAPHITA  349 

held  on  his  way  without  deviation  toward  a  fixed 
centre,  there  to  plunge  into  his  everlasting  life,  there 
to  receive  in  his  faculties  and  in  his  essence  the 
power  to  enjoy  through  love,  and  the  gift  of  under- 
standing through  wisdom. 

The  spectacle  suddenly  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of 
the  two  seers  crushed  them  beneath  its  immensity, 
for  they  felt  that  they  were  specks  whose  insignifi- 
cance could  be  compared  only  to  the  smallest  fraction 
which  the  infinity  of  divisibility  permits  man  to  con- 
ceive, side  by  side  with  the  infinity  of  numbers  which 
God  alone  can  look  upon,  as  He  looks  upon  Himself. 

What  abasement  and  what  grandeur  in  those  two 
points,  strength  and  love,  which  the  seraph's  first 
desire  placed  like  two  rings  to  unite  the  immensity 
of  the  lower  spheres  with  the  immensity  of  the 
higher  spheres! 

They  understood  the  invisible  bonds  by  which  the 
material  worlds  are  attached  to  the  spiritual  worlds. 
Recalling  the  sublime  efforts  of  the  noblest  human 
geniuses,  they  recognized  the  elemental  principle  of 
melody,  as  they  listened  to  the  songs  of  heaven 
which  imparted  the  sensations  of  colors,  of  per- 
fumes, of  thought,  and  which  recalled  the  innumera- 
ble details  of  all  creations,  as  earthly  music  revives 
an  infinity  of  memories  of  love. 

Having  reached,  by  virtue  of  an  incredible  quick- 
ening of  their  faculties,  a  point  for  which  language 
has  no  name,  they  were  able  to  cast  their  eyes  for 
a  moment  upon  the  divine  world.  There  was  the 
carnival. 


350  SERAPHITA 

Myriads  of  angels  flew  about  in  unison,  without 
confusion,  all  alike,  all  different,  simple  as  the  rose 
of  the  field,  immense  as  worlds. 

Wilfrid  and  Minna  could  not  see  them  come  or  take 
flight;  they  suddenly  studded  infinite  space  with  their 
presence,  as  stars  shine  out  in  the  invisible  ether. 

The  sparkling  of  their  united  diadems  flooded 
the  void  with  light,  like  the  flames  in  the  sky  at  the 
moment  when  day  is  breaking  among  our  mountains. 

Waves  of  light  flowed  from  their  hair,  and  their 
motions  caused  trembling  undulations  like  the  ripples 
of  a  phosphorescent  sea. 

The  two  seers  descried  the  seraph  indistinctly 
amid  the  immortal  legions  whose  wings  were  like 
the  immense  plumage  of  a  forest  swayed  by  the 
breeze. 

Instantly,  as  if  all  the  arrows  from  a  quiver  were 
discharged  at  once,  the  spirits  swept  away  with 
a  breath  all  vestiges  of  his  former  shape;  as  the 
seraph  ascended,  he  became  purer;  soon  he  seemed 
to  them  no  more  than  a  faint  outline  of  what  they 
had  seen  when  he  was  transfigured :  an  outline  of 
fire  casting  no  shadow. 

As  he  rose,  from  circle  to  circle  he  received  a  new 
gift;  then  the  symbol  of  his  election  was  transmitted 
to  the  superior  sphere,  toward  which  he  ascended, 
growing  ever  purer. 

None  of  the  voices  were  silent,  the  hymn  was 
diffused  through  space  in  all  its  variations. 

"  Hail  to  him  who  ascends  living!  Come  hither, 
flower  of  the  worlds!  diamond  purged  by  the  fire  of 


SERAPHITA  351 

sorrow!  spotless  pearl,  chaste  desire,  a  new  bond 
between  heaven  and  earth,  be  thou  light!  O  con- 
quering spirit,  queen  of  the  world,  fly  to  thy  crown! 
Thou  who  hast  triumphed  over  earth,  receive  thy 
diadem!  Be  ours!" 

The  virtues  of  the  angel  reappeared  in  their 
beauty. 

His  first  longing  for  heaven  reappeared,  graceful 
as  blooming  childhood. 

His  acts,  like  constellations,  adorned  him  with 
their  splendor. 

His  acts  of  faith  shone  forth  resplendent,  like  the 
hyacinth  of  heaven,  the  color  of  the  stars'  fire. 

Charity  tossed  him  its  oriental  pearls,  lovely  gar- 
nered tears. 

The  divine  love  surrounded  him  with  its  roses, 
and  his  pious  resignation,  by  virtue  of  its  snowy 
whiteness,  took  from  him  every  vestige  of  earth. 

In  the  eyes  of  Wilfrid  and  Minna  he  soon  became 
a  mere  speck  of  flame  which  glowed  brightly,  while 
its  movement  was  lost  in  the  melodious  acclamation 
that  welcomed  his  entrance  into  heaven. 

The  celestial  strains  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
the  two  outcasts. 

Suddenly  a  deathly  silence,  which  spread  like  a 
dark  veil  from  the  first  to  the  last  sphere,  threw 
Wilfrid  and  Minna  into  a  state  of  indescribable  sus- 
pense. 

At  that  moment,  the  seraph  disappeared  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Sanctuary,  where  he  received  the  gift 
of  life  everlasting. 


352  SERAPHITA 

There  was  a  movement  of  profound  adoration 
which  filled  the  hearts  of  the  two  seers  with  ecstasy 
mingled  with  terror. 

They  felt  that  everyone  fell  prostrate  in  the  divine 
spheres,  in  the  spiritual  spheres,  and  in  the  worlds 
of  darkness. 

The  angels  bent  the  knee  in  honor  of  his  glory, 
the  spirits  bent  the  knee  in  testimony  of  their  im- 
patience; the  denizens  of  the  dark  abysses  bent  the 
knee,  shuddering  with  terror. 

A  loud  shout  of  joy  gushed  forth  as  from  a  spring 
that  has  been  choked  up  and  begins  anew  to  send 
forth  its  myriads  of  sparkling  sheaf-like  jets,  wherein 
the  sun  plays,  studding  the  luminous  waves  with 
diamonds  and  with  pearls;  and  at  the  same  moment, 
the  seraph  reappeared,  blazing  with  light,  and  cried: 

"ETERNAL!    ETERNAL!    ETERNAL!" 

The  worlds  heard  him  and  recognized  him;  he 
pierced  them  as  God  pierces  them,  and  took  pos- 
session of  the  Infinite. 

The  seven  divine  worlds  were  stirred  by  his  voice 
and  answered  him. 

At  that  moment,  there  was  a  great  commotion  as 
if  whole  stars,  purified,  were  ascending  in  clouds  of 
dazzling  light  to  become  eternal. 

Mayhap  the  seraph  had  received  for  his  first 
mission  the  duty  of  calling  to  God  the  creations 
reached  by  the  Word. 

But  already  the  sublime  ALLELUIA  rang  in  Wil- 
frid's and  Minna's  ears  like  the  last  echo  of  a 
melody  that  is  ended. 


SERAPHITA  353 

Already  the  celestial  beams  were  fading  like  the 
brilliant  tints  of  the  sun  when  he  sinks  to  rest  in 
his  swaddling-clothes  of  purple  and  gold. 

Impurity  and  death  seized  their  prey  once  more. 

Returning  to  the  bonds  of  the  flesh  from  which 
their  spirits  had  been  momentarily  set  free  by  a 
sublime  slumber,  the  two  mortals  felt  as  one  feels 
in  the  morning  following  a  night  crowded  with  bril- 
liant dreams,  the  memory  of  which  still  hovers  in  the 
soul,  although  the  body  is  not  conscious  of  them, 
and  human  language  is  powerless  to  describe  them. 

The  profound  darkness  in  which  they  then  found 
themselves  was  the  sphere  in  which  the  sun  of  the 
visible  worlds  revolves. 

"  Let  us  descend,"  said  Wilfrid  to  Minna. 

"  Let  us  do  what  he  bade  us  do,"  she  replied. 
"After  seeing  whole  worlds  in  motion  toward  God, 
we  know  the  straight  path.  Our  starry  diadems 
are  above." 

They  went  down  into  the  dark  depths,  re-entered 
the  dust  of  the  inferior  worlds,  and  suddenly  es- 
pied the  Earth  like  a  subterranean  mass,  illuminated 
by  the  light  which  they  bore  in  their  souls,  and  which 
still  surrounded  them  with  a  cloud  wherein  were  re- 
flected dimly  the  fading  harmonies  of  heaven.  The 
spectacle  was  the  same  that  long  ago  met  the  inward 
eyes  of  the  prophets.  Ministers  of  diverse  creeds, 
all  alleged  to  be  true,  kings  all  consecrated  by  power 
and  dread,  warriors  and  great  men  portioned  out  the 
nations  by  mutual  consent,  learned  and  rich  tower- 
ing above  the  suffering,  tumultuous  populace,  and 
23 


354  SERAPHITA 

crushing  them  beneath  their  feet:  all  were  attended 
by  their  wives  and  servants,  all  were  clad  in  robes 
of  gold,  silver,  or  azure,  bedecked  with  pearls  and 
precious  stones  torn  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
from  the  depths  of  ocean,  for  which  mankind  had 
long  spent  its  energies,  sweating  and  blaspheming. 
But  all  that  wealth  and  splendor  built  with  blood 
were  like  old  rags  and  tatters  in  the  eyes  of  the  two 
outcasts. 

"  Why  stand  ye  there,  in  motionless  lines?"  cried 
Wilfrid. 

They  made  no  reply. 

"  Why  stand  ye  there,  in  motionless  lines?" 

They  made  no  reply. 

Wilfred  laid  his  hands  upon  them  and  cried: 

"Why  stand  ye  there,  in  motionless  lines?" 

With  a  simultaneous  movement  they  all  put  aside 
their  robes  and  displayed  their  withered  bodies, 
eaten  by  worms,  corrupt,  crumbling  to  dust,  ravaged 
by  horrible  diseases. 

"You  lead  the  nations  to  death,"  said  Wilfrid  to 
them.  "  You  have  debased  the  earth,  perverted 
the  Word,  prostituted  justice.  Having  eaten  the 
grass  in  the  pastures,  you  turn  now  upon  the  lambs 
and  slaughter  them!  Do  you  deem  yourselves  justi- 
fied in  displaying  your  sores?  I  shall  warn  those  of 
my  brethren  who  can  still  hear  the  Voice,  so  that 
they  may  go  and  allay  their  thirst  at  the  springs 
which  you  have  hidden." 

"Let  us  reserve  our  strength  for  prayer,"  said 
Minna;  "  your  mission  is  not  that  of  the  prophets, 


SERAPHITA  355 

nor  of  the  righter  of  wrongs,  nor  of  God's  mes- 
senger. As  yet,  we  are  only  upon  the  borders  of 
the  first  sphere,  let  us  try  to  cross  the  intervening 
space  upon  the  wings  of  prayer." 

"  You  shall  be  all  my  love!" 

"  You  shall  be  all  my  strength!" 

"  We  have  been  vouchsafed  a  glimpse  of  the  ex- 
alted mysteries;  we  are,  each  to  the  other,  the  only 
beings  on  earth  to  whom  joy  and  sorrow  are  compre- 
hensible; therefore  let  us  pray;  we  know  the  road, 
let  us  walk  in  it." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  the  maiden;  "  if  we 
walk  always  together,  the  way  will  be  less  hard  and 
less  long  to  me." 

"With  none  but  you,"  replied  the  man,  "can  I 
pass  through  the  vast  solitude  without  indulging 
myself  in  a  complaint." 

"And  we  will  go  to  heaven  together,"  said  she. 

The  clouds  gathered  and  formed  a  dark  canopy. 
Suddenly  the  two  lovers  found  themselves  kneeling 
beside  a  body  which  old  David  was  guarding  against 
all  curious  eyes,  and  which  he  was  determined  to 
bury  with  his  own  hands. 

Without,  the  first  summer  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  bursting  forth  in  its  magnificence.  The 
two  lovers  fancied  that  they  heard  a  voice  in  the 
sunbeams.  They  inhaled  the  perfume  of  a  celes- 
tial spirit  in  the  new-born  flowers,  and  said  to  each 
other,  hand  in  hand  : 

"  That  boundless  ocean  gleaming  below  us  in  the 
sunlight  is  an  image  of  what  we  saw  above." 


356  SERAPHITA 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Monsieur  Becker  asked 
them. 

"We  are  going  to  God,"  they  replied:  "Come 
with  us,  father." 

Geneva  and  Paris,  December  i833-November  1835. 


LIST  OF  ETCHINGS 


VOLUME  XLII 

MM 

THE  ELIXIR  OF  LONG  LIFE Fronts. 

JESUS  CHRIST  IN  FLANDERS 16 

IN  AQUILINA'S  DRESSING-ROOM 72 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  FALBERG 145 

AN  EVENING  AT  THE  PASTOR'S 248 


42  C.  H  .,  J.  C.,  etc.,  N.  &  R.  357 


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